Professor Khayme now came forward on the rostrum, and announced that the next part of the programme would be “‘Webster’s Reply to Hayne,’ to be recited”—­and here the professor paused—­“by Master Jones Berwick.”

I was thunderstruck.  No intimation of any kind had been given me that I was to be called on.  I decided at once to refuse to attempt an impossibility.  As I rose to explain and to make excuses, the boys all over the hall cried, “Berwick!  Berwick!” and clapped loudly.  Then the professor said, in a low and musical voice,—­and his voice was by far his greatest apparent attraction,—­that Master Berwick had not been originally selected to recite, but that the young orator chosen the duty had been called away unexpectedly, and that it was well known that Master Berwick, being a compatriot of the great Webster, and being not only thoroughly competent to declaim the abridged form of the speech in question, but also in politics thoroughly at one with the famous orator, could serve with facility in the stead of the absentee, and would certainly sustain the reputation of the club.

How I hated that man!  Yet I could see, as I caught his eye, I know not what of encouragement.  I had often heard the speech recited, but not recently, and I could not see my way through.

I stumbled somehow to the back of the curtain.  The Doctor said to me, in a tone I had never heard before.  “Be brave, my boy:  I pledge you my word as a gentleman that you shall succeed.  Come to this light.”  Then he seemed to be brushing my hair back with a few soft finger-touches, and I remembered no more until I found myself on the rostrum listening to a perfect din of applause that covered the close of my speech.  If there were any fire-eaters in the audience, they were Carolina aristocrats an knew how to be polite, even to a fault.

I could not understand my success:  I had vague inward inclination that it was not mine alone.  My identity seemed to have departed for the time.  I felt that some wonderful change had been wrought in me, and, youngster though I was, I was amazed to think what might be the possibilities of the mind.

* * * * *

For some time after this incident I tried to avoid Doctor Khayme, but as he had charge of our rhetoric and French, as well as oratory, it was impossible that we should not meet.  In class he was reserved and confined himself strictly to his duties, never by tone or look varying his prescribed relation to the class; yet, though his outward gravity and seeming indifference, I sometimes felt that he influenced me by a power which no other man exerted over me.

One afternoon, returning from school to my quarters, I had just crossed Meeting Street when I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and, turning, I saw Doctor Khayme.

“Allow me to walk with you?” he asked.

He did not wait for an answer, but continued at once:  “I have from your father a letter in relation to your health.  He says that he is uneasy about you.”