Tony scarcely knew what to say to this, for of course he remembered how bitterly Finch had always hated Mr. Roylston. The master, however, did not expect a reply. “I think,” he went on, “that there was a good deal of justice in what the boy said, though I did not mean to go into that with you to-night. Among other things he told me that night that he intensely resented my attitude toward you.” Tony laughed a little. “Jake showed equally bad judgment whether he greatly liked or disliked a person.” “Well,” continued Mr. Roylston, “right or wrong, his remarks have caused me to think things over very seriously the last few days, and I have come to the conclusion that in this also Finch was right. I was hard on you—too hard.” Tony lay still for a moment, thinking; finally he raised himself a little and looked at the master intently. “Mr. Roylston,” he said, “it’s mighty white of you to come and say this to me. In return I want to tell you just one thing—the one thing I have against you—the rest has been give and take, and none of it, it seems to me, very serious. I know I have annoyed you a great many times and that occasionally in Lower School days I was more or less impertinent, but I did one thing that I was thoroughly ashamed of and thoroughly sorry for. As for your soaking me a lot in the old days, as for your preventing me from being Head Prefect, I’ve borne no grudge. I think you were pretty stiff—I think honestly you are too stiff as to discipline most of the time—but I never thought you were unfair or unjust, and I have but one grudge against you. And that is that when I apologized to you for writing that thing a year ago you wouldn’t accept my apology really; you wouldn’t believe I was sorry.” “Well, I believe so now,” said Mr. Roylston, “and it is to tell you that particularly that I have come here to-night.” “I’m mighty glad, sir. That’s all I ever blamed you for, sir,—really. I have often complained of you in a noisy careless kind of way, as I have of other masters, but that was all guff. I didn’t any more really mean those things than I supposed you meant things when you would look at us sometimes as if we were actually beneath contempt.” Mr. Roylston reflected a moment. “I am afraid,” he continued, “that on my side, I do regret a great many things. I have been genuinely lacking in sympathy more than once. I have often been unnecessarily hard. It has not been right; and, as you see, I regret it. The more keenly, I fancy, as my lack of sympathy in this particular case of Finch counted a great deal in what so nearly meant a tragedy.” “Well, fortunately, it wasn’t one, sir. The nurse tells me that they think poor Jake will pull through.” “Yes, but he will not get back to work again this term; there is no chance of that.” “What do you think, sir, will happen to him? what will he do next year?”