“He is always talking like that,” said Cashel, plaintively. “I can’t learn Latin and Greek; and I don’t see what good they are. I work as hard as any of the rest--except the regular stews, perhaps. As to my being rough, that is all because I was out one day with Gully Molesworth, and we saw a crowd on the common, and when we went to see what was up it was two men fighting. It wasn’t our fault that they came there to fight.” “Yes; I have no doubt that you have fifty good excuses, Cashel. But I will not allow any fighting; and you really must work harder. Do you ever think of how hard _I_ have to work to pay Dr. Moncrief one hundred and twenty pounds a year for you?” “I work as hard as I can. Old Moncrief seems to think that a fellow ought to do nothing else from morning till night but write Latin verses. Tatham, that the doctor thinks such a genius, does all his constering from cribs. If I had a crib I could conster as well--very likely better.” “You are very idle, Cashel; I am sure of that. It is too provoking to throw away so much money every year for nothing. Besides, you must soon be thinking of a profession.” “I shall go into the army,” said Cashel. “It is the only profession for a gentleman.” Mrs. Byron looked at him for a moment as if amazed at his presumption. But she checked herself and only said, “I am afraid you will have to choose some less expensive profession than that. Besides, you would have to pass an examination to enable you to enter the army; and how can you do that unless you study?” “Oh, I shall do that all right enough when the time comes.” “Dear, dear! You are beginning to speak so coarsely, Cashel. After all the pains I took with you at home!” “I speak the same as other people,” he replied, sullenly. “I don’t see the use of being so jolly particular over every syllable. I used to have to stand no end of chaff about my way of speaking. The fellows here know all about you, of course.” “All about me?” repeated Mrs. Byron, looking at him curiously. “All about your being on the stage, I mean,” said Cashel. “You complain of my fighting; but I should have a precious bad time of it if I didn’t lick the chaff out of some of them.” Mrs. Byron smiled doubtfully to herself, and remained silent and thoughtful for a moment. Then she rose and said, glancing at the weather, “I must go now, Cashel, before another shower begins. And do, pray, try to learn something, and to polish your manners a little. You will have to go to Cambridge soon, you know.” “Cambridge!” exclaimed Cashel, excited. “When, mamma? When?” “Oh, I don’t know. Not yet. As soon as Dr. Moncrief says you are fit to go.” “That will be long enough,” said Cashel, much dejected by this reply. “He will not turn one hundred and twenty pounds a year out of doors in a hurry. He kept big Inglis here until he was past twenty. Look here, mamma; might I go at the end of this half? I feel sure I should do better at Cambridge than here.”