My answer must have showed Radley how sadly I was less than his estimate of me.

“But, sir, if I turn back now they’ll say I funked.”

“Exactly; then go out and face their abuse.  Go out and get hurt.  I’m determined your life shall be big, so begin now by learning to stand buffeting.  Besides, Ray, does it matter to a strong swimmer if the wave beats against him?”

I answered nothing, but gazed out of the window.  And Radley shot another appeal—­a less lofty one, but it flew home.  Arrows pierce deeper, if they don’t soar too high.

“Ray, they’ll say you funked your master, if you don’t go up to Mr. Fillet’s study; I shall say you funked the boys, if you don’t go out to them.  You must choose between their contempt and mine.”

I looked down at my boots.

“Which would you rather have, their contempt or mine?”

“Theirs, sir.”

Radley was quite moved when I answered him thus; and it was a little while before he proceeded: 

“I might have stopped your access to Mr. Fillet’s study by telling you that the head master was waiting for you there.  But I wanted you to stop from your own high motives, and not from fear.  Come along now; we’ll go together.”

We ascended the stairs to the study and entered.  Salome at once raised his long figure from his seat and, pointing at my tie, said: 

“Ee, bless me, my man, you’re very slovenly; put your tie straight.”

I blushed and did so.

Then he turned to Radley.

“Did you find him in the right disposition?”

“Yes, sir.”

It would not have been I if at this “Yes, sir” of Radley’s my mind had not run up an irrelevant alley, in which I found myself wondering that Radley, who was always called “sir,” should ever have to call anyone else “sir.”  Perhaps I was staring dreamily into vacancy, for Salome said: 

“Bless me, I’m very glad to hear that his disposition is all right.  But is the boy a fool?  Why does he stand staring into vacancy like a brainless nincompoop?”

I turned redder than ever and wondered at whom to look so as to avoid vacancy, and what to do with my hands.  Nervously I used the right hand to button up my coat, and then put it out of mischief in my pocket.

“Good God, man!” cried the Head.  “Take that hand out of your pocket!”

I took it quickly out and unbuttoned one coat-button:  then, for lack of something to do with the hand, did the button up again.  I decided to keep the miserable member fingering the button.  To make matters worse Salome rested his eyes like a searchlight on the hand.  At last he looked distressingly straight at my face.

“Ray,” he asked, “are you a perfect fool?”

“No, sir,” I said, and grinned.

The Head turned to my housemaster for his testimony.

“Mr. Fillet, is the boy a fool?”

“One couldn’t call him a fool,” replied Fillet, obviously intending the conclusion:  “One might, however, call him a knave.”