"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised. "Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper." "It’s very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the ’Gayton’? Don’t forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so." "Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it." He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town. "’Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I’ll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother." "Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea’s ready in the kitchen. When you’ve finished I’ve something here for you to do." "Yes, sir," said Jim. Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure. "You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don’t forget that new brooms sweep clean." Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion. Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him. "I’ll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself. This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study. "Don’t bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn’t be able to dig you up again." "Oh, I’m all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I’ve made a big move this week." "Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It’s the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don’t think history ought to count: it’s mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?" "Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.