gentlemen,” said the Rector, smiling and sitting down.
Mr. Fullerton looked as if he would have liked to strangle the Rector for that smile. It was a perfectly innocent smile, in no wise directed at the would-be speaker, but it seemed to Fullerton that the Rector was ridiculing him, and it put him off his text for the moment, but he recovered himself, and in a very florid speech, full of wanderings from the point, opposed the appointment of a new master on the ground that Humphrey Bone having been duly nominated and appointed, unless he had in some special way become unfit for his post, the Rector had no right to dismiss him.
Mr. Bone uttered a very loud “Hear, hear!”
Two more of the townsmen, followers of Fullerton, rose in turn to speak, but were silenced on the spot by the announcement of the Rector, that this was not an ordinary meeting of ratepayers, but of the governors of the school, who alone had a right to make any motion and speak to the proposition before the meeting.
This being so, Tomlinson was forced into action by his neighbour, and in smooth tones regretted that he was compelled to go in opposition to “our worthy Rector,” but, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, he must object to the appointment of so young a man as Mr. Luke Ross to so important a post, and after a long speech, in which he went round and round the subject a dozen times, he ended by declaring that he should vote against the appointment.
To his annoyance, the Rector, as the meeting went on, found himself undoubtedly in the minority, and he felt bitterly the position in which Luke Ross had been placed.
Just then, however, a couple of the governors, upon whom he knew that he could depend, entered the room, and the tables, he felt, were turned.
Luke had been sitting, chafing at every word that had been said against his appointment, and every now and then, as he met Cyril Mallow’s eye, it seemed to him to be full of triumph at his discomfiture.
Then, too, he kept glancing at Portlock, and as he did so the bluff, wealthy farmer’s words came back, mingled with the contempt he seemed to feel for the pittance that was to be the young master’s for the first few years.
Five hundred a year—five hundred a year—seemed to keep repeating itself to Luke Ross, as his eyes once more met those of Cyril Mallow, whose countenance wore a decided sneer.
“Then now, gentlemen, I think,” said the Rector, “we will proceed to vote.”
“Stop!” cried Luke Ross.
It was on the impulse of the moment. He had had no such thought when he entered the room.
“We will hear you, Mr. Ross, after the voting is over,” said the Rector, quietly.
“No, sir,” replied Luke, “I must ask you to hear me first. I have decided not to accept the post.”
There was a dead silence in the room for a few moments after Luke Ross’s decisive words, a silence broken by Humphrey Bone, who relieved the excitement under which he laboured by starting from his seat, and bringing his thick-soled boot down with a tremendous clump upon the floor.
“Do I understand you to say, Mr. Ross, that you decline the post?” exclaimed the Rector.
“Yes, sir, definitely,” replied Luke. “I could not, under the circumstances, think of accepting the appointment.”
There was another pause here, and then, led by Fullerton, the opposition party broke into a loud cheer.
“Silence if you please, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Rector, with a greater show of indignation than any one present remembered him to have displayed. “This is no time for showing party feeling. Of course, as Mr. Ross declines to accept the appointment—”
“But he don’t,” cried old Michael Ross, “he wants time to think it over.”
“Hush, father,” exclaimed the young man, firmly, “I know my own mind. Mr. Mallow, I am sorry to have given all this trouble, and, as it were, placed you in a false position; but until a few minutes back I did not see this matter in the light I do now, and I definitely decline the post.”
“Your action does you great credit, young man,” said Fullerton, pompously; “and I am glad to congratulate my fellow-townsman, Michael Ross, on the possession of such a son.”
“Your compliment is misplaced, sir,” said Luke, coldly, “for my action in this matter is in nowise creditable to me. But that is my affair, and it need not be discussed.”
Mr. Fullerton scowled on receiving this snub, and he was about to make some angry retort, but the Rector said at once—
“Then, gentlemen, we need say no more, unless you wish to discuss the question of Mr. Bone’s dismissal.”
“I claim,” said Fullerton, “that he cannot be dismissed.”
“A majority of the school governors have the power to dismiss him, Mr. Fullerton,” replied the Rector, with dignity; and after a few more words he left the chair, the meeting being declared adjourned until application had been made to one of the institutions for another master.
“I am sorry to find that you have come to such a decision, Mr. Ross,” said the Rector, as he encountered Luke outside the inn.
“I was sorry to come to such a decision, sir,” replied Luke; “but, believe me that I have been in no way influenced by those who seem to be in opposition to you, and I hope that you will persist in Humphrey Bone’s dismissal, and the appointment of another man.”
The Rector bowed and walked on with his son, who raised his hat slightly to Luke, that salute being returned as the young men’s eyes met once more, each reading in those of the other a growing dislike which must some day ripen into enmity.
Then they passed on their several ways, both having the same object in view.
Part 1, Chapter XVIII.
Doubts.
It was nearly twelve o’clock, and in spite of her efforts, Sage Portlock’s thoughts had wandered a good deal from the work she had in hand. It was the morning upon which Luke Ross’s appointment was to be confirmed, and her face flushed as she thought of the time when he would be conducting the next school, and the future looked very rosy and bright, for she told herself that in secret she was very fond of Luke.
Julia and Cynthia Mallow had been there to take a class and chat with her for a few minutes, Cynthia being ready with a sly allusion to the business upon which papa had been left.
“We are going to pick up papa after he has fastened your schoolmaster, Sage,” she said; “but first of all we are going to drive over to the farm and see Mrs. Berry and the little ones. When does she go away?”
“To-morrow, Miss Cynthia,” said Sage, turning rather white, “and—and she is not very well. Would you mind not calling, Miss Julia?”
“Oh, no, certainly not,” said Julia; “but I am sorry. Give our kind love to her, Sage,
