cocked
sideways at one like an angry parrot.

Langton retired to a form out of hearing, and sat down on one end of
it, nursing his detention paper anxiously.

'Well, Ashburn,' began the Reverend James Shelford, 'is there anything
I can do for _you_?'

'Why,' said Mark, 'the fact is, I----'

'Eh, what?' said the elder. 'Wait a minute--there's that impident
fellow back again! I thought I'd seen the last of him. Here, you sir,
didn't I send you up for a flogging?'

'I--I believe you did, sir,' said Langton with extreme deference.

'Well, why ain't you _getting_ that flogging--eh, sir? No impidence,
now--just tell me, why ain't you being flogged? You ought to be in the
middle of it now!'

'Well, you see,' said Mark, 'he's one of _my_ boys----'

'I don't care whose boy he is,' said the other, testily; 'he's an
impident fellow, sir.'

'I don't think he is, really,' said Mark.

'D'ye know what he did, then? Came whooping and shouting and
hullabalooing into my room, for all the world as if it was his own
nursery, sir. He's _always_ doing it!'

'I never did it before,' protested Langton, 'and it wasn't my fault
this time.'

'Wasn't your fault! You haven't got St. Vitus' dance, have you? I
never heard there were any Tarantula spiders here. You don't go
dancing into the Doctor's room, do you? _He'll_ give you a dancing
lesson!' said the old gentleman, sitting down again to chuckle, and
looking very like Mr. Punch.

'No, but allow me,' put in Mark; 'I assure you this boy is----'

'I know what you're going to tell me--he's a model boy, of course.
It's singular what shoals of model boys _do_ come dancing in here
under some irresistible impulse after school. I'll put a stop to it
now I've caught one. You don't know 'em as well as I do, sir, you
don't know 'em--they're all impident and all liars--some are cleverer
at it than others, and that's all.'

'I'm afraid that's true enough,' said Mark, who did not like being
considered inexperienced.

'Yes, it's cruel work having to do with boys, sir--cruel and
thankless. If ever I try to help a boy in my class I think is trying
to get on and please me, what does he do? Turn round and play me some
scurvy trick, just to prove to the others he's not currying favour.
And then they insult me--why, that very boy has been and shouted
"Shellfish" through my keyhole many a time, I'll warrant!'

'I think you're mistaken,' said Mark, soothingly.

'You do? I'll ask him. Here, d'ye