“That’s so,” observed Mr. Todd smilingly. “And sometimes,” he added, with a wink, “they get it, too!” This speech appeared to irritate the youth exceedingly. “Huh!” he exploded violently. “Well, I’d like to punch his head; that’s all.” XIX DAVID’S suddenly formed resolution carried him swiftly to the one big house of the village, where he rang the bell. The night being warm the outer door stood open and he could look through the screen into the dimly lighted hall. To the left of the passage was Jarvis’s library, and David, waiting impatiently before the outer door, perceived that the master of the house was within, quietly reading by a shaded lamp. Somehow the sight stirred the unreasoning anger within him to a hotter glow. His unanswered summons appeared in the guise of a deliberate insult. Raising his walking-stick he smote the door. He saw the man within raise his eyes from his book, as if to listen, and repeated his knock smartly; then as Jarvis rose and came hastily toward the door, he spoke: “Good-evening, Mr. Jarvis,” he said, mumbling the prefix so that it was little more than an inarticulate sound. “Guess your door-bell isn’t in working order.” Jarvis recognized his visitor with an involuntary start, which David perceived with ill-disguised triumph. “The fellow’s afraid of me,” he told himself, and hung up his hat on the rack as if quite at his ease. He followed Jarvis into the library and sat down, looking about him with cool curiosity. “You’ve been expecting to see me, I dare say,” he began, his eyes returning from their tour of inspection to the other man’s face. Jarvis returned the look doubtfully. “It occurred to me that you might wish——” “Yes; I do,” interrupted David. “You’re entirely right, sir.” Having said this much in a loud, aggressive tone, David stopped short. He had become suddenly aware that Jarvis was looking at—or rather, through—him, in a way which made him irritably conscious of his hands, his feet, the set of his collar, and the material of his light summer clothes. Then those strange eyes went deeper; they were busying themselves with his thoughts, his motives, they even saw his fears, which crowded forward, a cloud of gibbering shapes, out of his past. He spoke again, hurriedly, and backed up his words with a laugh, which sounded foolishly loud in the quiet room. “Well,” he said, “now that you’ve had time to look me over, how d’ you like me? Think I’ll do—eh?” “No,” Jarvis said quietly, almost sadly. “I’m afraid not. But I don’t intend to trust my own judgment—entirely.” He sighed deeply and looked down, as if there was nothing more to be seen or said. David straightened himself in his chair with a jerk. “See here,” he said truculently. “I was joking, you know; you were staring at me as if you’d never seen a human being before. But now I’d like you to answer me straight. What d’you mean by saying I ‘won’t do’? What business is it of yours what I——”