"I'm being perfectly honest with you," said dad. "I tell you frankly that
I don't expect you to succeed, Mr. Wigg----"
"Twigg," corrected the chap in the basket chair.
"Pardon me; Twigg. The boy is simply unmanageable, especially where study
is concerned. He--but, there, perhaps it will be best if I don't prejudice
you too much. You'll have a free hand; I shan't interfere between you. The
last tutor came to me every day with the story of his troubles. I paid him
to keep them to himself; I don't want to hear them. I simply hand the boy
over to you and say: 'Here he is; make a gentleman of him if you can, and
incidentally get him ready for college. Punish him whenever you see fit.
Take any method in doing it you like, so long as you don't forget you're a
gentleman; brutality I won't stand.'"
I wished I could see the chap's face; but I couldn't; just his feet. He
wore low patent leathers.
"If at the end of one month," dad went on, "you have managed to get the
upper hand, we'll continue the arrangement. If you have failed I shall have
no further need of you. In the meanwhile, until then, you're a member of
the family, free to come and go as you like. See that you're comfortable.
That's all, I guess. Want to try it?"
"Yes," said the chap. I didn't like the way he said it, though; it sounded
so kind of certain. All the others had been a bit nervous when dad got to
that point.
"Very well," dad answered. "We'll call it settled. As--er--as a--sidelight
on Raymond's code of honor, Mr. Twigg--you said Twigg?--I'll mention that
for the last few minutes he has been listening to our conversation from
behind the hall door. You may come out now, Raymond."
I went out, grinning. It was all well enough for dad to talk about "the
last few minutes," but I was sure he hadn't known I was there until I
kicked the door after the chap said "yes" like that. The chap got out of
his chair and looked at me as though they hadn't been talking about me for
half an hour.
"Raymond, this is Mr. John Twigg, your new tutor," said dad.
"Thought it was about time for another," I said. Twigg held out his hand,
and so I shook with him. He shook different from the others; sort of as
though he had bones and things inside his fingers instead of cotton wool.
"Glad to see you," he said. "Hope we'll get on together."
"Oh, I'll get on," said I; "but I don't know about you."
"That'll do, Raymond," said dad angrily. "I don't expect you to act like a
gentleman; but you might at least be less of a cad."
"I ain't a cad!" I muttered.
"What else are you when you listen behind doors to things you're not
expected to hear? When you talk like a gutter snipe and act--"
"You're a liar!" I shouted. "Liar! Liar! Liar!"
Dad's face got purple like it always does when he's mad, and his hands
shook. For a moment I thought he was going to jump for me; he never has, no
matter how mad he gets. Then he leaned back again in his chair and turned
to Twigg with a beast of a sneer on his face.
"You see?" he asked, with a shrug. "Nice, sweet-tempered, clean-tongued
youth, isn't he? Want to call it off?"
I looked scowlingly at Twigg. He was leaning back, hands in pockets,
looking at me through half-closed eyes as though I was a side show at a
circus. I stared back at him defiantly. "Have a look," I jeered. He raised
a finger and scratched the side of his nose without taking his eyes off me,
just as though he was a doctor trying to decide what nasty stuff to give
me. After a bit I dropped my eyes; I tried not to, but they got to
blinking.
"No," said Twigg. "If you don't mind I'll walk back to the station and
telegraph for my trunk."
"Sit still," said dad, "and I'll get the cart around. Or you can write your
message and I'll have Forbes send it."
"Thanks," said Twigg, "I'd like the walk." He turned to me. "Want to go
along?"