ct, after Westby's
disappearance the boys were exceptionally well behaved. Slowly Irving
recovered his composure, yet the ordeal left him feeling as if he wanted
to shut himself up in his room and lie down. He knew that he had lost
command of his temper; he regretted the manner in which he had stormed
at Westby; but he thought nevertheless that the treatment had been
effective and therefore not entirely to be deplored. The boys had
thought him soft; he had shown them that he was not; and he determined
that from this time forth he would bear down upon them hard. If by
showing them amiability and kindliness he had failed to win their
respect, he would now compel it by ferocity. He would henceforth show no
quarter to any malefactor.

Walking up to his room, he fell in with Barclay, who was also returning
from a class.

"What is the extreme penalty one can inflict on a boy who misbehaves?"
he asked.

"For a single act?" asked Barclay.

"For one that's a climax of others--insolence, disobedience, disorder--all
heaped into one."

Irving spoke hotly, and Barclay glanced at him with a sympathetic
interest.

"Well," said Barclay, "three sheets and six marks off in decorum is
about the limit. After that happens to a boy two or three times, the
rector is likely to take a hand.--If you don't mind my saying it,
though--in my opinion it's a mistake to start in by being extreme."

"In ordinary cases, perhaps." Irving's tone did not invite questioning,
and he did not confide to Barclay what extraordinary case he had under
consideration.

When he reached his room, he wrote out on a slip of paper, "Westby,
insolence and disorder in class, three sheets," and laid the paper on
his desk. Then he undertook to correct the exercises in geometry which
had been the fruit of the Sixth Form's labors in the last hour; but
after going through five or six of them, his mind wandered; it reverted
uneasily to the thought of his future relations with those boys. He rose
and paced about the room, and hardened his heart. He would be just as
strict and stern and severe with them all as he possibly could be. When
he had them well trained, he might attempt to win their liking--if that
seemed any longer worth having! It did not seem so to him now; all he
wanted to know now was that he had awakened in them respect and fear.

Respect and fear--could he have inspired those, by his excitable
shriekings in the class room, by his lack of self-control in