* * * * *
All that James had ever heard or read about the wonderful devotion to
study of the modern German young man came home to him during the next
two weeks. Our English youth fritters away its time in idleness and
pleasure-seeking. The German concentrates. Adolf concentrated like a
porous plaster. Every day after breakfast, just when the success of
James's literary career depended on absolute seclusion, he would come
trotting up for his lesson. James's writing practically ceased.
This sort of thing cannot last. There is a limit, and Adolf reached it
when he attempted to add night-classes to the existing curriculum.
James, as had been said, was in the habit of taking coffee with Mr
Blatherwick in his study after seeing the boys into bed. It was while
he was on his way to keep this appointment, a fortnight after his first
interview with Adolf, that the young student waylaid him with the
evening paper.
Something should have warned Adolf that the moment was not well chosen.
To begin with, James had a headache, the result of a hard day with the
boys. Then that morning's English lesson had caused him to forget
entirely an idea which had promised to be the nucleus of an excellent
plot. And, lastly, passing through the hall but an instant before, he
had met Violet, carrying the coffee and the evening post to the study,
and she had given him two long envelopes addressed in his own
handwriting.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288