Mr. Dobb’s scruples being thus laid at rest, he threw himself into the training of Anthony with the enthusiasm of an artist. Anthony promised not to fight till Mr. Dobb gave his consent, and for the rest of the term bore his purgatory in silence. On the last day of the vacation Mr. Dobb pronounced him fit; and on the next morning Anthony set off hopeful of an early opportunity to teach his persecutors forbearance. They were interfering with his work. He wanted to be done with them. To his disappointment no chance occurred that day. A few of the customary jibes were hurled at him; they came, unfortunately, from boys too small to be of any use as an example. But on his way home the next afternoon he saw, to his delight, young Penlove and Mowbray, of the lower fourth, turn up a quiet road that led through a little copse to the bathing place. Penlove was the boy who had called his mother a charwoman. Young Mowbray belonged to the swells; his father was the leading solicitor of Millsborough. He was a quiet, amiable youth with soft eyes and a pink and white complexion. Anthony followed them, and when they reached the edge of the copse he ran and overtook them. It was not a good day for bathing, there being a chill east wind, and nobody else was in sight. They heard Anthony behind them and turned. “Coming for a swim?” asked young Mowbray pleasantly. “Not today, thank you,” answered Anthony. “It’s Penlove I wanted to speak to. It won’t take very long.” Penlove was looking at him with a puzzled expression. Anthony was an inch taller than when Penlove had noticed him last. “What is it?” he demanded. “You called my mother a charwoman last term,” answered Anthony. “She does go out cleaning when she can’t get anything else to do. I think it fine of her. She wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t for me. But you meant it as an insult, didn’t you?” “Well,” answered young Penlove, “what if I did?” He guessed what was coming, and somehow felt doubtful of the result notwithstanding the two years difference between them. “I want you to say that you’re sorry and promise never to do it again,” answered Anthony. It had to be gone through. Young Penlove girded his loins--to be exact, shortened his belt by a couple of holes and determined to acquit himself like an English schoolboy. Young Mowbray stepped to the end of the copse for the purpose of keeping cave. It was a short fight, for which young Mowbray, who always felt a little sick on these occasions, was glad. Penlove was outclassed from the beginning. After the third round he held up his hand and gave Anthony best. Anthony helped him to rise, and seeing he was still groggy, propped him up against a tree. “Never mind saying you’re sorry,” he suggested. “Leave me and my mother alone for the future, that’s all I want.” He held out his hand. Young Mowbray had returned. “Shake hands with him,” he advised Penlove. “You were in the wrong. Show your pluck by acknowledging it.”