“couldn’t you be a little more objective in your interests?”

“You mean,” said Irving, “less—less self-centred?”

“That’s it.” The rector smiled.

“I’ll try,” said Irving humbly.

“All right; good luck.” The rector shook hands with him and turned to
his desk.

There was no disturbance in the Mathematics class that day. Irving hoped
that after the hour Westby and Collingwood might approach him to discuss
the justice of the reports which he had given them, and so offer him an
opportunity of lightening the punishment. But in this he was
disappointed. Nor did they come to him in the noon recess—the usual time
for boys who felt themselves wronged to seek out the masters who had
wronged them.

Irving debated with himself the advisability of going to the two boys
and voluntarily remitting part of their task. But he decided against
this; to make the advances and the concession both would be to concede
too much.

At luncheon there was an unpleasant moment. No sooner had the boys sat
down than Blake, a Fifth Former, called across the table to Westby,—

“Say, Westby, who was it that gave you three sheets?”

Westby scowled and replied,—