“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 dormitory and at the dinner table, by his incompetence when confronted with a roast of beef!  Each incident that recurred to him was of a kind to bring with it the sting of mortification; his cheeks tingled.  He must at least learn how to perform the simple duties expected of a master; he could not afford to continue giving exhibitions of ignorance and incompetence.

Moved by this impulse, he descended to the kitchen—­precincts which he had never before entered and in which his appearance created at first some consternation.  The cook, however, was obliging; and when he had confessed himself the incapable one who had sent out the mutilated beef to be carved, she was most reassuring in her speech, and taking the cold remains of a similar cut from the ice chest, she gave him an object lesson.  She demonstrated to him how he should begin the attack, how he might foil the bone that existed only to baffle, how slice after slice might fall beneath his sure and rapid slashes.

“I see,” said Irving, taking the knife and fork from her and making some imaginary passes.  “The fork so—­the knife so.  And you will always be sure to have a sharp carving knife for me—­very sharp?”

The cook smiled and promised, and he extravagantly left her contemplating a dollar bill.

Shortly after he had returned to his room the bell on the Study building rang, announcing the end of the morning session.  There was half an hour before luncheon; soon the boys came tramping up the stairs and past Irving’s closed door.  Soon also a racketing began in the corridors; Irving suspected an intention to bait him still further; it was probably Westby once again.  He waited until the noise became too great to be ignored—­shouting and battering and scuffling; then he went forth to quell it.