Harry had to shake his head. 

 "Perhaps you were on the Modern Side? All the better if you were!" 

 "No, I was not; I left in the form below the Sixth." 

 "Then you know nothing about book-keeping, for example?" 

 "I wish I did." 

 "But you are a fair mathematician?" 

 "It was my weakest point." 

 The clergyman's expression was more melancholy than ever. "It is a great pity—a very great pity, indeed," said he. "However, I see writing materials on the table, and shall be glad if you will write me down your full name, age, and address." 

 Harry sat down and wrote what was required of him in the pretty, rather scholarly hand which looked like and was the imitation of a prettier and more scholarly one. Then he unsuspectingly blotted the sheet and handed it to Mr. Walthew, who instantly began shaking his head in the most depressing fashion. 

 "It is as I feared," said he; "you do not even write a fair commercial hand. It is well enough at a distance," and he held the sheet at arm's length, "but it is not too easy to read, and I fear it would never do in an office. There are several City men among my parishioners; I had hoped to go to one or two of them with a different tale, but now I fear—I greatly fear. However, one can but try. You do not fancy any of the professions, I suppose? Not that you could afford one if you did." 

 "Are the fees so high?" asked poor Harry, in a broken-spirited voice. 

 "High enough to be prohibitive in your case, though it might not be so if you had saved your money," the clergyman took care to add. "Of which particular profession were you thinking?" 

 "We—we have been talking it all over, and we did speak of—the Law." 

 "Out of the question; it would cost hundreds, and you wouldn't make a penny for years." 

 "Then there is—schoolmastering." 

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