But Irving departed feeling depressed and afraid. He had seen that the
rector was disappointed in him—in his appearance, in his manner. And
the rector’s little speech had given him the clue. Until now, he had not
much considered how large a part of his work would be in the management
and the discipline of the boys; the mere teaching of them was what had
been in his mind, and for that he felt perfectly competent. In college,
that was all that the tutoring, in which he had been so successful,
meant. But, confronted by the necessity of establishing and maintaining
friendly human relations with a lot of strange boys, Irving for the
first time questioned his qualifications, realizing that the rector too
was questioning them.

He became more cheerful the next day, when the new boys began to arrive
and he found himself at once with work to do. He had mastered pretty
thoroughly the names of the buildings and the geography of the place,
and it was rather pleasant to be able to give information and directions
to those younger and more ignorant than himself.

It was pleasant, too, to have one mother who was wandering round vaguely
with her small son and to whom he shyly proffered assistance, show such
appreciation of his courtesy and end by appealing to him to keep always
a friendly eye on her little forlorn Walter. As it turned out, Irving
never afterwards came much into contact with the boy, who lived in a
different building and was not in any of his classes; he asked about him
from time to time, and discovered that Walter was a mischievous person,
not troubled by homesickness.

But most agreeable and reassuring was it to take charge of the
examination-room, where the new boys were undergoing the tests of their
scholarship. Most of them were candidates for the Second, Third, and