“Of course not; but any unnatural or exaggerated estimate of him is a great error, to lead to an equally unfair depreciation when the time of deception is past. To be plain, Harcourt, is that boy fitted to enter one of our great public schools, stand the hard, rough usage of his own equals, and buffet it as you or I have done?” “Why not? or, at least, why should n't he become so after a month or two?” “Just because in that same month or two he'd either die broken-hearted, or plunge his knife into the heart of some comrade who insulted him.” “Not a bit of it. You don't know him at all. Charley is a fine give-and-take fellow; a little proud, perhaps, because he lives apart from all that are his equals. Let Glencore just take courage to send him to Harrow or Rugby, and my life on it, but he 'll be the manliest fellow in the school.” “I 'll undertake, without Harrow or Rugby, that the boy should become something even greater than that,” said Upton, smiling. “Oh, I know you sneer at my ideas of what a young fellow ought to be,” said Harcourt; “but, somehow, you did not neglect these same pursuits yourself. You can shoot as well as most men, and you ride better than any I know of.” “One likes to do a little of everything, Harcourt,” said Upton, not at all displeased at this flattery; “and somehow it never suits a fellow, who really feels that he has fair abilities, to do anything badly; so that it comes to this: one does it well, or not at all. Now, you never heard me touch the piano?” “Never.” “Just because I'm only an inferior performer, and so I only play when perfectly alone.” “Egad, if I could only master a waltz, or one of the melodies, I'd be at it whenever any one would listen to me.” “You're a good soul, and full of amiability, Harcourt,” said Upton; but the words sounded very much as though he said, “You're a dear, good, sensible creature, without an atom of self-respect or esteem.” Indeed, so conscious was Harcourt that the expression meant no compliment that he actually reddened and looked away. At last he took courage to renew the conversation, and said,-- “And what would you advise for the boy, then?” “I 'd scarcely lay down a system; but I 'll tell you what I would not do. I 'd not bore him with mathematics; I 'd not put his mind on the stretch in any direction; I 'd not stifle the development of any taste that may be struggling within him, but rather encourage and foster it, since it is precisely by such an indication you 'll get some clew to his nature. Do you understand me?” “I 'm not quite sure I do; but I believe you'd leave him to something like utter idleness.” “What to _you_, my dear Harcourt, would be utter idleness, I've no doubt; but not to him, perhaps.” Again the Colonel looked mortified, but evidently knew not how to resent this new sneer. “Well,” said he, after a pause, “the lad will not require to be a genius.”