Next morning Law arrived at the house of the Minor Canon, considerably to his own surprise, with his big Virgil under his arm. “I don’t know whether you meant it, or if she understood you,” he said, shy and uncomfortable, looking down at his shoes, and presenting the top of his head rather than his face to Mr. Ashford’s regard, “but my sister said——”
“Yes; I meant it fully. Sit down and tell me what you have been doing, and whereabouts you are in your work. I have a pupil coming presently with whom probably you might read——”
“Well, you must know that I haven’t been what you might call working very hard, you know,” said Law, still butting at his future instructor with the top of his head. He sat down as Mr. Ashford directed him, but he did not give up the earnest contemplation of his boots. “It isn’t so easy to get into the way of it when you’re working alone. I left school a long time ago—and I don’t know that it was much of a school—and latterly I was a little bit irregular—and so, you know——”
“I see,” said the Minor Canon; “however, it is not too late to do better. What is that big book under your arm—Virgil? Very well. Construe a passage for me, and let me see how you get on.”
“Shall I do a bit I know, or a bit I don’t know?” said Law, raising his head this time with a doubtful gleam, half of merriment. “Of course, I want to put my best foot foremost—but I don’t want to take you in all the same.”
“I must trust you entirely on that point—or give me the book, I will choose, and chance shall decide.”
“Oh, hang it!” said Law under his breath. He would have been honest and avowed what he knew; but this kind of Sortes did not please him. The perspiration came out on his forehead. Of course it was a very hard bit, or what Law thought a very hard bit, that turned up—and the way in which he struggled through it, growing hotter and hotter, redder and redder, was a sight to see.
“That will do,” Mr. Ashford said, compassionate, yet horrified. “That will do.” And he took the book out of his would-be pupil’s hands with a sigh, and smoothed down the page, which Law had ruffled in his vain efforts, with a regretful touch, as though asking pardon of Virgil. “Suppose we have a little talk on this subject?” he said. “No doubt you have made up your mind what you would like to do?”
“Not I,” said Law. “It will have to be some office or other—that’s the only way in which a fellow who has no money seems to be able to make a living. A very poor living, so far as I hear—but still it is something, I suppose. That is not what I would like by nature. I’d like to go out to Australia or New Zealand. I hate the notion of being cooped up to a desk. But I suppose that is how it will have to be.”
“Because of your sister? You would not abandon her? It does you a great deal of credit,” said the Minor Canon, with warmth.