interest.

“Well,” said Barclay, “three sheets and six marks off in decorum is
about the limit. After that happens to a boy two or three times, the
rector is likely to take a hand.—If you don’t mind my saying it,
though—in my opinion it’s a mistake to start in by being extreme.”

“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.