boyishly, as his way was, and thenceforward during his University career
Langham became his slave. He had no ambition for himself; his motto
might have been that dismal one--'The small things of life are odious
to me, and the habit of them enslaves me; the great things of life are
eternally attractive to me, and indolence and fear put them by;' but
for the University chances of this lanky, red-haired youth--with his
eagerness, his boundless curiosity, his genius for all sorts of lovable
mistakes--he disquieted himself greatly. He tried to discipline the
roving mind, to infuse into the boy's literary temper the delicacy, the
precision, the subtlety of his own. His fastidious, critical habits of
work supplied exactly the antidote which Elsmere's main faults of haste
and carelessness required. He was always holding up before him the
inexhaustible patience and labor involved in all true knowledge; and it
was to the germs of critical judgment so planted in him that Elsemere
owed many of the later growths of his development--growths with which we
have not yet to concern ourselves.

And in return, the tutor allowed himself rarely, very rarely, a moment
of utterance from the depths of his real self. One evening, in the
summer term following the boy's matriculation, Elsmere brought him an
essay after Hall, and they sat on talking afterward. It was a rainy,
cheerless evening; the first contest of the Boats week had been rowed
in cold wind and sheet; a dreary blast whistled through the college.
Suddenly Langham reached out his hand for an open letter. 'I have had an
offer, Elsmere,' he said, abruptly.

And he put it into his hand. It was the offer of an important Scotch
professorship, coming from the man most influential in assigning it.
The last occupant of the post had been a scholar of European eminence.
Langham's contributions to a great foreign review, and certain Oxford
recommendations, were the basis of the present overture, which, coming
from one who was himself a classic of the classics, was couched in terms
flattering to any young man's vanity.

Robert looked up with a joyful exclamation when he had finished the
letter.

'I congratulate you, sir.'

'I have refused it,' said Langham, abruptly.

His companion sat open-mouthed. Young as he was, he know perfectly well
that this particular appointment was one of the blue ribbons of British
scholarship.

'Do you think--' said the other in a tone of singular vibration,