“Robert, the youngster and I will take a turn in the garden.” Mr. Rendall demurred, but Clem waved the objection aside and led the way down the openwork iron stairs to the lawn. “Now then,” he said. “What’s the trouble with you? Didn’t like that calculating remark of yours one bit.” “I’m sorry,” said Wynne, “but why should I tell them my joke, they couldn’t see it.” “Then keep it for the dark, old fellow, or conceal it altogether. The I-know-more-than-you-but-I-won’t-say-what-it-is attitude does no one any good.” Wynne jerked his head petulantly. “The faun was laughing in grandfather’s painting.” “Oho! So that’s it? But the villagers didn’t know he was laughing.” “You and I did.” “Perhaps. But we shouldn’t be so unsubtle as to tell them so. Consider a minute. Suppose we thought lots of people were very wrong, and their wrongness tickled our humour, d’you think the best way of putting ’em right would be to laugh at ’em? Take it from me it isn’t. If you laugh at a dog he’ll bite you, but pat him and, in time, he’ll jump through hoops, walk on his hind legs, and be tricksy as you want.” “They always frown at me.” “Maybe they wouldn’t if you didn’t smile at them. Just what is it you are trying to get at?” Wynne hesitated. “You don’t know.” “No, I don’t know yet—but some day I shall, and then won’t I let them have it!” He closed his mouth tight, and there was a fierce resolve in his eyes. “Then here’s a bit of advice for you. Don’t start quarrelling with the world you hope to reform. Remember other people must build the pulpit you hope to preach from. If you get their backs up before you’ve learnt your sermon no one but yourself will ever hear it. Lie low and gather all you can from the plains before you seek the Purple Patch on the hill top.” “Purple Patch,” repeated Wynne. “Yes. Every artist builds his tower on a Purple Patch, and in his early working days he sees it shining gloriously through the morning mists. There is honey heather there, larkspur and crimson asters, and all the air is brittle with new-born, virgin thoughts. I tell you, old son, that purple patch is worth making for, and it’s good to reflect when you have got there that you came by a gentleman’s way. There are some may call it Success, but I like the Purple Patch better. Success may be achieved at such a dirty price and the climber’s boots may be fouled with trodden flesh. Stick to the Purple Patch, Wynne, and you’ll be a man before you become a ghost.” Before taking his leave Clem gave Wynne a five-pound note. “It is a sad thing,” he said, “but a new boy with a five-pound note is far more popular at school than one without. If I were you I should blow a part of it at the tuck-shop and do your pals a midnight feast.” Privately he remarked to Mr. Rendall, “That boy is woefully fragile. I have some doubt as to whether you are wise in sending him to a boarding school. You should drop the headmaster a line saying he’ll want special care.”