; that they were doing
their best; but that their sense of humour was at times too strong. But
it was useless. "The Bull" would not give him a chance. And he had
learnt from Mansell and Tester that "the Bull" could only see one point
of view at a time. And yet he was filled with an immense admiration for
this man who thought only of Fernhurst, who had worked for Fernhurst all
his life, who made Fernhurst's interests the standard for every
judgment and action. There was something essentially noble in so
unswerving a devotion. If only his love of Fernhurst had not made him so
complete an egoist.

"Well, what is it to be, Caruthers?" Buller went on. "Are you going to
work with me or against me? When you first came you were keen and
willing. You are still keen, but you think too much of yourself now; you
imagine you know more than I do. Is all this going to stop? Are we going
to work together?"

There was nothing to be gained by arguing.

"Sir, I shall do my best to."

"Well, I hope so, Caruthers. It is not for my own sake I mind; you see
that, don't you? It is Fernhurst that matters. We must all do our best
for Fernhurst. I hope we sha'n't have any more trouble, you will be a
power in the school some day, we must work together--for Fernhurst."

"Yes, sir."

Gordon walked to the door; as he put his hand on the knob he paused for
a second, then turned round.

"Good-night, sir."

"Good-night, Caruthers."

He was out in the street again. There was a tremendous noise going on in
one of the Buller's studies. From the courts came sounds of barge
football. He did not feel as if he wanted to go and discuss everything
with Mansell for a minute or so. Slowly he wandered round the shrubbery,
past the big school, past the new buildings into the Abbey courtyard. He
sat down on a seat and tried to think. A girl came and sat beside him
and smiled at him invitingly. He took no notice. She sat there a minute
or so, then got up and walked off stiffly. The Abbey clock boomed out
the quarter to six. In a minute or so he would have to go back to tea.
He was worried. He liked "the Bull," admired him intensely; and yet "the
Bull" thought he hated him, thought him disloyal. Why could not Buller
keep his temper? Why must he rush to conclusions without weighing the
evidence? And "the Bull" was such a splendid man; he was one of the very
few masters Gordon respected in the least. He wanted "the Bull" to like
him. And then there was Lovela