“I hope that teaching won’t age you prematurely,” he added. “You will
probably have some trying times with the boys—we all do. But it oughtn’t
to be hard for you—especially as you will be thrown most of all with the
older boys. Mr. Williams, who has had charge of the Sixth Form dormitory
at the Upper School, is ill with typhoid fever and will probably not
come back this term. So I’m going to put you in charge there. You will
have under you twenty fellows, some of them the best in the school. But
just because they are in some ways pretty mature, don’t be—don’t be
self-effacing.”

“I understand,” said Irving. He sat on the edge of his chair, and
crumpled his handkerchief nervously in his hands. And all the time—with
his singular clearness of intuition—he was aware of the doubt and
distrust passing through Dr. Davenport’s mind.

“Don’t be afraid of the boys or show embarrassment or discomfort before
them,” continued Dr. Davenport, “and on the other hand don’t try to
cultivate dignity by being cold and austere. Be natural with them—but
always be the master.—There!” he broke off, smiling, for he saw that
Irving looked worried and seemed to be taking all this as personal
criticism—“that’s the talk that I always give to a new master; and now
I’m done. Here is a printed copy of the rules and regulations which I
advise you to study; you must try to familiarize yourself with our
customs before any of the boys arrive. To-morrow the new boys will come,
and you will report for duty at the Gymnasium, where the entrance
examinations will be held. You will find your room in the Sixth Form
dormitory, at the Upper School. I hope you will like the life here, Mr.
Upton—and I wish you every possible success in it.”

The rector gave him an encouraging handshake and another friendly smile.