room and the lesson was over. Anthony's eyes were fixed upon a motto over the washstand:
Is a very good rule, as many can tell."
Young Tetteridge admitted that the time was approaching when the point would have to be considered.
Anthony was sitting on his hands, swinging his legs. Young Tetteridge was walking up and down; owing to the size of the room being ten by twelve it was a walk with many turns.
"You see," explained Anthony, "you're not a gentlefolk."
Mr. Tetteridge claimed that he was, though personally attaching no importance to the fact. His father had been an Indian official. His mother, had she wished, could have claimed descent from one of the most renowned of Irish kings.
"What I mean," explained Anthony, "is that you've got to work for your living."
Mr. Tetteridge argued that he could live on very little. He was living just then on twelve shillings a week, picked up one way and another.
"But when you're married and have children?" suggested Anthony.
Mr. Tetteridge flushed, and his eyes instinctively
