e was addicted to awful
silences; and, indeed, if seldom strictly "golden," silence may often be
called "iron"), but at last he inquired, "And pray what may you be doing
up there, sir?"
"Upon my soul I can't say," said Mr. Bultitude feebly. "Ask that
gentleman there with the fiddle--he knows."
Mr. Burdekin was a good-natured, easy-tempered little man, and had
already forgotten the affront to his dignity. He was anxious not to get
the boy into more trouble.
"Bultitude was a little inattentive and, I may say, wanting in respect,
Dr. Grimstone," he said, putting it as mildly as he could with any
accuracy; "so I ventured to place him there as a punishment."
"Quite right, Mr. Burdekin," said the Doctor: "quite right. I am sorry
that any boy of mine should have caused you to do so. You are again
beginning your career of disorder and rebellion, are you, sir? Go up
into the schoolroom at once, and write a dozen copies before tea-time! A
very little more eccentricity and insubordination from you, Bultitude,
and you will reap a full reward--a full reward, sir!"
So Mr. Bultitude was driven out of the dancing class in dire
disgrace--which would not have distressed him particularly, being only
one more drop in his bitter cup--but that he recognised that now his
hopes of approaching the Doctor with his burden of woe were fallen like
a card castle. They were fiddled and danced away for at least
twenty-four hours--perhaps for ever!
Bitterly did he brood over this as he slowly and laboriously copied out
sundry vain repetitions of such axioms as, "Cultivate Habits of Courtesy
and Self-control," and "True Happiness is to be sought in Contentment."
He saw the prospect of a tolerably severe flogging growing more and more
distinct, and felt that he could not present himself to his family with
the consciousness of having suffered such an indelible disgrace. His
family! What would become of them in his absence? Would he ever see his
comfortable home in Bayswater again?
Tea-time came, and after it evening preparation, when Mr. Tinkler
presided in a feeble and ineffective manner, perpetually suspecting that
the faint sniggers he heard were indulged in at his own expense, and
calling perfectly innocent victims to account for them.
Paul sat next to Jolland and, in his desperate anxiety to avoid further
unpleasantness, found himself, as he could not for his life have written
a Latin or a German composition, reduced to copy down his
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