THE TUTOR.
My uncle did not send us to school, but engaged a young man of humble
birth, but good classical attainments, to act in the capacity of tutor
to his son, and as an act of especial favour, which fact was duly
impressed upon me from day to day, I was allowed the benefit of his
instructions.
Mr. Jones, though a good practical teacher, was a weak, mean creature,
possessing the very soul of a sneak. He soon discovered that the best
way to please his elder pupil was to neglect and treat me ill. He had
been engaged on a very moderate salary to teach _one_ lad, and he was
greatly annoyed when Mr. Moncton introduced me into his presence,
coldly remarking, "that I was an orphan son of his brother--a lad
thrown upon his charity, and it would add very little to Mr. Jones's
labours to associate me with Theophilus in his studies."
Mr. Jones was poor and friendless, and had to make his own way in the
world. He dared not resent the imposition, for fear of losing his
situation, and while outwardly he cheerfully acquiesced in Mr.
Moncton's proposition, he conceived a violent prejudice against me, as
being the cause of it.
He was spiteful, irritable, narrow-minded man; and I soon found that
any attempt to win his regard, or conciliate him, was futile: he had
made up his mind to dislike me, and he did so with a hearty good will
which no attention or assiduity on my part could overcome.
Theophilus, who, like his father, professed a great insight into
character, read that of his instructor at a glance; and despised him
accordingly. But Theophilus was vain and fond of admiration, and could
not exist without satellites to move around him, and render him their
homage as to a superior luminary. He was a magnificent paymaster to his
sneaks; and bound them to him with the strongest of all ties--his
purse-strings.
Mr. Moncton, allowed this lad a handsome sum monthly for his own
private expenses; and fond as he was of money, he never inquired of the
haughty arrogant boy, the manner in which he disposed of his
pocket-money. He might save or spend it as inclination prompted--he
considered it a necessary outlay to give his son weight and influence
with others; and never troubled himself about it again.
Theophilus soon won over Mr. Jones to his interest, by a few judicious
presents; while he fostered his dislike to me, by informing him of
circumstances regarding my birth and family, with which I never became
acquainted until some years afterwards. At this distance of time, I can
almost forgive Mr. Jones, for the indifference and contempt he felt for
his junior pupil.
Influenced by these feelings, he taught me as little as he could; but I
had a thirst for knowledge, and he could not hinder me from listening
and profiting by his instructions to my cousin. Fortunately for me,
Theophilus did not possess either a brilliant or inquiring mind.
Learning was very distasteful to him; and Mr. Jones had to repeat his
instructions so often, that it enabled me to learn them by heart. Mr.
Jones flattered and coaxed his indolent pupil; but could not induce him
to take any interest in his studies, so that I soon shot far ahead of
him, greatly to the annoyance of both master and pupil; the former
doing his best to throw every impediment in my way.
I resented the injustice of this conduct with much warmth, and told
him, "that I would learn in spite of him; I had mastered the first
rudiments of Latin and Mathematics, and I could now teach myself all I
wanted to know."
This boast was rather premature. I found the task of self-instruction
less easy than I anticipated. I was in Mr. Jones's power--and he meanly
withheld from me the books necessary to my further advancement. I now
found myself at a stand-still. I threatened Mr. Jones that I would
complain to my uncle of his unjustifiable conduct. The idea seemed
greatly to amuse him and my cousin--they laughed in my face, and dared
me to make the experiment.
I flew to my aunt.
She told me to be patient and conceal my resentment; and she would
supply the books and stationery I required, from her own purse.
I did not like this. I was a blunt straight-forward boy; and I thought
that my aunt was afraid to back me in what I knew to be right. I told
her so.
"True, Geoffrey. But in this house it is useless to oppose force to
force. Your only safe course is non-resistance."
"That plan I never can adopt. It is truckling to evil, aunt. No
ultimate good can spring from it."
"But great trouble and pain may be avoided, Geoffrey."
"Aunt, I will not submit to Mr. Jones's mean tyranny; I feel myself
aggrieved; I must speak out and have it off my mind. I will go this
instant to Mr. Moncton and submit the case to him."
"Incur his displeasure--no trifle at any time, Geoffrey--and have
Theophilus and Mr. Jones laughing at you. They can tell your uncle what
story they please: and which is he most likely to believe, your
statement or theirs?"
"He is a clever man. Let them say what they like, it is not so easy to
deceive him; he will judge for himself. He would know that I was in the
right, even if he did not choose to say so; and that would be some
satisfaction, although he might take their part."
My aunt was surprised at my boldness; she looked me long and earnestly
in the face.
"Geoffrey, your argument is the best. Honesty is the right policy,
after all. I wish I had moral courage to act up to it at all times.
But, my dear boy, when you are the slave of a violent and deceitful
man, your only chance for a quiet life is to fight him with his own
weapons."
"Wrong again, aunt," I cried vehemently. "That would make me as had as
him. No, no, that plan would not do for me. I should betray myself
every minute, and become contemptible in his eyes and my own. It
strikes me, although I am but a boy of twelve, and know little of the
world, that the only real chance you have with such men is, to show
them that you are not afraid of them. They are all cowards, aunt; they
will yield to courage which they feel to be superior to their own. So
much I have learnt from the experience of the last four years."
Aunt made no reply; she smiled sadly and kindly upon me, and her tacit
approval sent me directly to my uncle. He was in his private office. I
knocked gently at the door.
"Come in."
I did so; and there I stood, not a little confused and perplexed before
him, with flushed cheeks and a fast-throbbing heart. It was the first
complaint I had ever made to him in my life--the first time I had ever
dared to enter his _sanctum sanctorum_; and I remained tongue-tied
upon the threshold, without knowing how to begin. I thought he would
have looked me down. I felt the blood receding from my face beneath his
cold gaze, as he said--
"Geoffrey, what do you want here?"
"I came, sir," I at last faltered out, "to make a complaint against Mr.
Jones."
"I never listen to complaints brought by a pupil against his teacher,"
he cried, in a voice which made me recoil over the door-step. "Be gone,
sir! If you come into my presence again on such an errand, I will spurn
you from the room."
This speech, meant to intimidate me, restored my courage. I felt the
hot blood rush to my face in a fiery flood.
"Hear me, sir. Did not you place me under his care in order that I
might learn?"
"And you refuse to do so?"
"No, sir: the reverse is the case: he refuses to teach me, and deprives
me of my books, so that I cannot teach myself."
"A very _probable_ tale," sneered Mr. Moncton; then rising from the
table at which he was seated, he cried out hastily, "Is Mr. Jones in
the study?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, my new client, come along with me. I will soon learn the truth
of your case."
He clutched me by the arm, which he grasped so tightly that I could
scarcely resist a cry of pain, and hurried me out. In the study we
found Theophilus and Mr. Jones: the one lounging on two chairs, the
other smoking a cigar and reading a novel. Mr. Moncton stood for a
moment in the door-way, regarding the pair with his peculiar glance.
"Gentlemen, you seem _pleasantly_ and _profitably_ employed!"
"Our morning tasks are concluded," said Theophilus, returning the stare
of scrutiny with a steady lie. "'Too much work would make Jack a dull
boy.'"
His father smiled grimly. How well he understood the character of his
son.
"Here is a lad, Mr. Jones, who complains that you not only refuse to
teach him, but deprive him of his books."
"He tells the truth, sir," returned that worthy, casting upon me a
spiteful, sidelong glance, which seemed to say more eloquently than
words, "You shall see, master Geoffrey, what you'll get by tale-bearing.
I'll match you yet." "I have withheld his books, and refused my
instructions for the past week, as a punishment for his insolent and
disrespectful conduct to your son and me; to say nothing of his
impertinent speeches regarding _you_, sir, who are his guardian and
benefactor."
"Do you hear that--sir!" said my uncle, giving me a violent blow on my
cheek, and flinging me from him. "When next you come to me with such
tales, you shall not leave your bed for a week."
I sprang from the floor, where his blow had sent me; and stood erect
before him. It was a pigmy confronting a giant; but my blood was
boiling. I had lost all control over myself. "It's a lie!" I cried,
shaking my fist at Mr. Jones. "A monstrous falsehood! He knows it is.
Theophilus knows it is. I have been falsely accused and unjustly
punished; I will remember that blow to my dying day. I will never
forget nor forgive it."
"And who cares, my hero, for your impotent rage?" My uncle seized me by
my thick curling hair, and turned round my face, hot with passion and
streaming with tears of rage, to the gaze of my sneering enemies. "I
will make you know, that you are in my house and in my power--and you
_shall_ submit to my authority, and the authority of those I choose to
place over you."
I struggled desperately in his herculean grasp in order to free myself.
He laughed at my impotent rage and then threw me on the floor--and this
time, I was quiet enough.
When I recovered my senses, I found myself lying upon the bed in the
garret, allotted to my use. My aunt was sitting beside me, bathing my
temples with vinegar and water. "Oh, aunt," I sighed, closing my eyes,
"I wish I were dead!"
"Hush! Geoffrey. You brought this on yourself. I told you how it would
be."
"It was so unjust," I replied with bitterness.
"And you were so rash. You will be wiser another time."
"When I am as wicked as my persecutors."
"No need of quoting others, my son, while you suffer such violent
passions to master you. Listen to me, my child. I have known your uncle
for years--have seen him in his darkest and stormiest moods; and
contrived to live peaceably with him. Nay, he respects me more than he
does any one else in the world. But I never _opposed his will_. He is
not a man to be trifled with--tears and complaints are useless. You
cannot touch his heart. He _will_ be obeyed. Left to himself, he may
become your friend, and even treat you with a certain degree of
kindness and consideration. But if you anger him, he will never
forgive, and can be a dreadful enemy. If you love me, Geoffrey, follow
my advice and submit to his authority with a good grace."
"I will try not to hate him for your dear sake. I can promise no more!"
I kissed her hand and fell back exhausted on my pillow. My head ached
dreadfully from the ill-treatment I had received; and wounded pride
made my heart very sore. It was only on her account that I could
control the deadly and revengeful feelings I cherished against him.
Theophilus and Mr. Jones, I considered beneath contempt.