"This is not the language of penitence, Bultitude," said poor Mr. Blinkhorn, disheartened and bewildered. "Remember, you have put off the Old Man now!" "I'm not likely to forget _that_," said Paul; "I only wish I could see my way to putting him on again!" "You want to be your old self again?" gasped Mr. Blinkhorn. "Why, of course I do," said Paul angrily; "I'm not an idiot!" "You are weary of the struggle so soon?" said the other with reproach. "Weary? I tell you I'm sick of it! If I had only known what was in store for me before I had made such a fool of myself!" "This is horrible!" said Mr. Blinkhorn--"I ought not to listen to you." "But you must," urged Paul; "I tell you I can't stand it any longer. I'm not fit for it at my age. You must see that yourself, and you must make Grimstone see it too!" "Never!" said Mr. Blinkhorn firmly. "Nor do I see how that would help you. I will not let you go back in this deplorable way. You must nerve yourself to go on now in the path you have chosen; you must force your schoolfellows to love and respect you in your new character. Come, take courage! After all, in spite of your altered life, there is no reason why you should not be a frank and happy-hearted boy, you know." "A frank and happy-hearted fiddlestick!" cried Paul rudely (he was so disgusted at the suggestion); "don't talk rubbish, sir! I thought you were going to show me some way out of all this, and instead of that, knowing the shameful way I've been treated, you can stand there and calmly recommend me to stay on here and be happy-hearted and frank!" "You must be calm, Bultitude, or I shall leave you. Listen to reason. You are here for your good. Youth, it has been beautifully said, is the springtime of life. Though you may not believe it, you will never be happier than you are now. Our schooldays are----" But Mr. Bultitude could not tamely be mocked with the very platitudes that had brought him all his misery--he cut the master short in a violent passion. "This is too much!" he cried--"you shall not palm off that miserable rubbish on me. I see through it. It's a plot to keep me here, and you're in it. It's false imprisonment, and I'll write to the _Times_. I'll expose the whole thing!" "This violence is only ridiculous," said Mr. Blinkhorn. "If I were not too pained by it, I should feel it my duty to report your language to the Doctor. As it is, you have bitterly disappointed me; I can't understand it at all. You seemed so subdued, so softened lately. But until you come to me and say you regret this, I must decline to have anything more to say to you. Take your book and sit down in your place!"