Sanstead House was an in the Georgian style. It stood, foursquare, in the of about nine of land. For the part of its existence, I learned later, it had been the private home of a family of the name of Boone, and in its early days the had been considerable. But the progress of the years had to the Boones. Money had the sale of land. New had come into being, off of the from their centre. New for travel had members of the family away from home. The old life of the country had changed, and in the end the latest Boone had come to the that to keep up so large and a house was not his while.

That the place should have a was the natural of evolution. It was too large for the ordinary purchaser, and the had been so in the of time that it was for the wealthy. Colonel Boone had been to let it to Mr Abney, and the had started its career.

It had all the necessary for a school. It was isolated. The village was two miles from its gates. It was near the sea. There were for and football, and the house a number of rooms of every size, for and dormitories.

The household, when I arrived, consisted, Mr Abney, myself, another master named Glossop, and the matron, of twenty-four boys, the butler, the cook, the odd-job-man, two housemaids, a scullery-maid, and a parlour-maid. It was a little colony, cut off from the world.

With the of Mr Abney and Glossop, a man of nerves and mannerisms, the only person with I speech on my was White, the butler. There are some men one at sight. White was one of them. Even for a he was a man of manners, but he that quality of which I have noticed in other butlers.

He helped me my box, and we the process. He was a man of medium height, square and muscular, with something, some quality of springiness, as it were, that in a butler. From one or two he said, I that he had a good deal. Altogether he me. He had humour, and the half-hour which I had with Glossop me set a premium on humour. I that he, like myself, was a new-comer. His had left at notice the holidays, and he had the at about the same time that I was mine. We that it was a place. White, I gathered, its as a merit. He was not of village society.

On the morning, at eight o'clock, my work began.

My day had the of what ideas

I of the of the private-school assistant-master.

My view, till then, had been that the assistant-master had an easy time. I had only him from the outside. My opinion was on as a boy at my own private school, when masters were an who to when they liked, had no to do, and couldn't be caned. It to me then that those three facts, the last, a good on which to up the Perfect Life.

I had not been at Sanstead House two days to in on this point. What the boy, the assistant-master about in idleness, not is that the is in a spell of hard work. He is 'taking duty'. And 'taking duty' is a thing to be remembered, by a man who, like myself, has a life of ease, protected from all the minor of life by a income.

Sanstead House me. It me. It me a hundred in which I had allowed myself to soft and inefficient, without being aware of it. There may be other which call for a of energy, but for the man with a private who has through life at his own pace, a little school-mastering is to be a tonic.

I needed it, and I got it.

It was almost as if Mr Abney had how excellent the of work was for my soul, for the man allowed me to do not only my own, but most of his as well. I have talked with assistant-masters since, and I have from them that of private are into two classes: the and the runners-up-to-London. Mr Abney to the class. Indeed, I if a of the class have been in the length and of southern England. London him like a magnet.

After he would take me aside. The was always the same.

'Ah—Mr Burns.'

Myself (apprehensively, disaster, 'like some wild a trap, who sees the through the wood'). 'Yes? Er—yes?'

'I am I shall be to up to London today. I have an from—' And then he would name some parent or some parent. (By 'prospective' I one who was of sending his son to Sanstead House. You may have twenty children, but unless you send them to his school, a will to you with the name of parent.)

Then, 'He wishes—ah—to see me,' or, in the case of parents, 'He wishes—ah—to talk over with me.' The is subtle, but he always it.

And presently the would roll away the long drive, and my work would begin, and with it that soul-discipline to which I have alluded.

'Taking duty' makes calls upon a man. He has to answer questions; up fights; stop big boys small boys; prevent small boys smaller boys; check stone-throwing, going-on-the-wet-grass, worrying-the-cook, teasing-the-dog, making-too-much-noise, and, in particular, all of hara-kiri such as tree-climbing, water-spout-scaling, leaning-too-far-out-of-the-window, sliding-down-the-banisters, pencil-swallowing, and ink-drinking-because-somebody-dared-me-to.

At the day there are to perform. Carving the joint, helping the pudding, playing football, reading prayers, teaching, in for meals, and going the to see that the lights are out, are a of them.

I wanted to Cynthia, if I could, but there were moments the day or so when I how on earth I was going to the necessary time to with my other duties. Of all the learned it to me that that of the most urgently for thought, in which and plots might be matured.

Schools vary. Sanstead House to the more difficult class. Mr Abney's did much to add to the of his assistants, and his for the did more. His to make Sanstead House a place where the of the class might as little as possible the temporary of mothers him into a which would have angels.

Success or failure for an assistant-master is, I consider, very much a of luck. My colleague, Glossop, had most of the that make for success, but no luck. Properly up by Mr Abney, he might have order. As it was, his class-room was a bear-garden, and, when he took duty, reigned.

I, on the other hand, had luck. For some the boys to accept me. Quite early in my I that of the assistant-master's life, the of one boy another boy's the in making a noise after I had told him to stop. I if a man can so in any other way that which comes from the knowledge that the is his friend. Political must have the same of when their audience for the of a heckler, but it cannot be so keen. One is so with boys, unless they decide that they like one.

It was a week from the of the term I the of the Little Nugget.

I had my open for him from the beginning, and when I that he was not at school, I had alarmed. Had Cynthia sent me here, to work as I had before, on a wild-goose chase?

Then, one morning, Mr Abney me after breakfast.

'Ah—Mr Burns.'

It was the time that I had those soon-to-be-familiar words.

'I I shall be to up to London today. I have an with the father of a boy who is to the school. He wishes—ah—to see me.'

This might be the Little Nugget at last.

I was right. During the school, Augustus Beckford approached me. Lord Mountry's was a boy with freckles. He had two to popular fame. He his longer than any other boy in the school, and he always got of any piece of first.

'There's a new kid tonight, sir,' he said—'an American kid. I him talking about it to the matron. The kid's name's Ford, I the kid's father's rich. Would you like to be rich, sir? I wish I was rich. If I was rich, I'd all of things. I I'm going to be rich when I up. I father talking to a lawyer about it. There's a new parlour-maid soon, sir. I cook telling Emily. I'm if I'd like to be a parlour-maid, would you, sir? I'd much be a cook.'

He the point for a moment. When he spoke again, it was to touch on a still more problem.

'If you wanted a to make up to a lizard, what would you do, sir?'

He got it.

Ogden Ford, the El Dorado of the industry, entered Sanstead House at a past nine that evening. He was by a Worried Look, Mr Arnold Abney, a a large box, and the odd-job man two suitcases. I have to the Worried Look it was a thing by itself. To say that Mr Abney it would be to create a impression. Mr Abney in its wake. He was it much as Macbeth's army was the of Dunsinane.

I only a of Ogden as Mr Abney him into his study. He a self-possessed boy, very like but, if anything, than the portrait of him which I had at the Hotel Guelph.

A moment later the door opened, and my came out. He appeared at me.

'Ah, Mr Burns, I was about to go in search of you. Can you me a moment? Let us go into the dining-room.'

'That is a boy called Ford, Mr Burns,' he said, when he had closed the door. 'A rather—er—remarkable boy. He is an American, the son of a Mr Elmer Ford. As he will be to a great in your charge, I should like to prepare you for his—ah—peculiarities.'

'Is he peculiar?'

A Mr Abney's face. He a to his he replied.

'In many ways, by the of the who have passed through my hands—boys, of course, who, it is only to add, have the of a home-life—he may be said to be—ah—somewhat peculiar. While I have no that au … au he is a boy, charming, at present he is—shall I say?—peculiar. I am to that he has been, from up, indulged. There has been in his life, I suspect, little or no discipline. The result has been to make him unboylike. There is a complete of that diffidence, that for surprise, which I for one so in our English boys. Little Ford to be blase'. He has tastes and ideas which are precocious, and—unusual in a boy of his age…. He himself in a manner sometimes…. He to have little or no for—ah—constituted authority.'

He paused while he passed his once more over his forehead.

'Mr Ford, the boy's father, who me as a man of great ability, a American merchant prince, was with me about his as they his son. I cannot his exact words, but the of what he said was that, until now, Mrs Ford had had of the boy's upbringing, and—Mr Ford was outspoken—was too indulgent, in fact—ah—spoilt him. Indeed—you will, of course, respect my confidence—that was the for the which—ah—has come about. Mr Ford this as in a measure—shall I say?—an antidote. He there to be no of discipline. So that I shall you, Mr Burns, to check firmly, though, of course, kindly, such of his as—ah—cigarette-smoking. On our he incessantly. I it impossible—without physical violence—to him to stop. But, of course, now that he is actually at the school, and to the of the …'

'Exactly,' I said.

'That was all I to say. Perhaps it would be as well if you saw him now, Mr Burns. You will him in the study.'

He away, and I to the study to myself.

A cloud of tobacco-smoke above the of an easy-chair me as I opened the door. Moving into the room, I a pair of on the grate. I to the light, and the of the Little Nugget came into view.

He was almost at full length in the chair, his in upon the ceiling. As I came him, he at the cigarette his fingers, at me, looked away again, and another of smoke. He was not in me.

Perhaps this me, and I saw him with eyes. At any rate, he to me a youth. That portrait had him. He had a and a round, face. His were dull, and his mouth discontentedly. He had the air of one who is with life.

I am to imagine, as Mr Abney would have said, that my manner in him was and more than Mr Abney's own. I was by his detachment.

'Throw away that cigarette,' I said.

To my amazement, he did, promptly. I was to wonder I had not been too abrupt—he gave me a of being a man of my own age—when he produced a case from his pocket and opened it. I saw that the cigarette in the was a stump.

I took the case from his hand and it on to a table. For the time he to notice my existence.

'You've got a of a nerve,' he said.

He was his gifts in order, This, I took it, was what Mr Abney had called 'expressing himself in a manner'.

'And don't swear,' I said.

We each other for the space of some seconds.

'Who are you?' he demanded.

I myself.

'What do you want to come in for?'

'I am paid to in. It's the main of an assistant-master.'

'Oh, you're the assistant-master, are you?'

'One of them. And, in passing—it's a small point—you're to call me "sir" these little of ours.'

'Call you what? Up an alley!'

'I your pardon?'

'Fade away. Take a walk.'

I that he was meaning to that he had my proposition, but his to it.

'Didn't you call your "sir" when you were at home?'

'Me? Don't make me laugh. I've got a lip.'

'I you haven't an respect for those set in authority over you.'

'If you my tutors, I should say nix.'

'You use the plural. Had you a Mr Broster?'

He laughed.

'Had I? Only about ten million.'

'Poor devils!' I said.

'Who's now?'

The point was well taken. I myself.

'Poor brutes! What to them? Did they suicide?'

'Oh, they quit. And I don't them. I'm a proposition, and you don't want to it.'

He out for the cigarette-case. I it.

'You make me tired,' he said.

'The sensation's mutual.'

'Do you think you can around, stopping me doing things?'

'You've my job exactly.'

'Guess again. I know all about this joint. The hot-air merchant was telling me about it on the train.'

I took the to be to Mr Arnold Abney, and it a happy one.

'He's the boss, and nobody but him is allowed to the fellows. If you it, you'd your job. And he ain't going to, the Dad's paying fees, and he's he'll me if there's any trouble.'

'You to have a of the position.'

'Bet your life I have.'

I looked at him as he in the chair.

'You're a kid,' I said.

He stiffened, outraged. His little gleamed.

'Say, it looks to me as if you wanted making a shorter. You're a too fresh. Who do you think you are, anyway?'

'I'm your angel,' I replied. 'I'm the who's going to take you in hand and make you a little of about the home. I know your type backwards. I've been in America and it on its native asphalt. You are all the same. If Dad doesn't you into the office you're out of knickerbockers, you just to seed. You to think you're the only thing on earth, and you go on it till one day somebody comes along and you you're not, and then you what's to you—good and hard.'

He to speak, but I was on my theme, one I had and upon since the when I had a at my club.

'I a man,' I said, 'who started out just like you. He always had all the money he wanted: worked: to think himself a of prince. What happened?'

He yawned.

'I'm I'm you,' I said.

'Go on. Enjoy yourself,' said the Little Nugget.

'Well, it's a long story, so I'll you it. But the of it was that a boy who is going to have money needs to be taken in hand and while he's young.'

He himself.

'You talk a lot. What do you you're going to do?'

I him thoughtfully.

'Well, everything's got to have a beginning,' I said. 'What you to me to want most is exercise. I'll take you for a every day. You won't know at the end of a week.'

'Say, if you think you're going to me to run—'

'When I your little hand, and start running, you'll you'll soon be too. And, years hence, when you win the Marathon at the Olympic Games, you'll come to me with in your eyes, and you'll say—'

'Oh, slush!'

'I shouldn't wonder.' I looked at my watch. 'Meanwhile, you had go to bed. It's past your proper time.'

He at me in open-eyed amazement.

'Bed!'

'Bed.'

He more than annoyed.

'Say, what time do you think I go to bed?'

'I know what time you go here. Nine o'clock.'

As if to support my words, the door opened, and Mrs Attwell, the matron, entered.

'I think it's time he came to bed, Mr Burns.'

'Just what I was saying, Mrs Attwell.'

'You're crazy,' the Little Nugget. 'Bed nothing!'

Mrs Attwell looked at me despairingly.

'I saw such a boy!'

The whole of the was being up by this legal infant. Any now, and Authority would a set-back from which it would be hard put to it to recover. It to me a that called for action.

I down, the Little Nugget out of his chair like an oyster, and for the door. Outside he incessantly. He me in the and then on the knee. He to scream. He all the way upstairs. He was when we his room.

* * * * *

Half an hour later I sat in the study, thoughtfully. Reports from the seat of told of a and only temporary with Fate on the part of the enemy. He was in bed, and to have up his mind to submit to the position. An air of among the members of the establishment. Mr Abney was and Mrs Attwell openly congratulatory. I was something like the hero of the hour.

But was I jubilant? No, I was to moodiness. Unforeseen had in my path. Till now, I had this as something abstract. Personality had not entered into the matter. If I had had any picture in my mind's eye, it was of myself away into the night with a child, his little hand in mine. From what I had and of Ogden Ford in moments of emotion, it to me that wanted to him with any approach to would need to use chloroform.

Things were very complex.