Tom hung his head, not from humility but to think out a point that troubled him.
"You know, sir"—he looked up again—"that when Guy and I get together we talk about things that—well, that you mightn't like."
"I don't care a hang what you talk about."
"Yes, sir; but this is something particular."
"Well, then, keep it to yourself."
"I can't keep it to myself because—because some day you might think that I'd had a bad ... as long as we've just been chums ... and I wasn't paid—"
Ansley moved away from the fireplace, striding up and down in front of it.
"Look here, my boy! I know what young fellows are. I know you talk about things you wouldn't bring up before Mrs. Ansley and me. I don't care. It's what I expect. Do you both good. You're not specially vicious, either of you, and even if you were—"
"It's not a matter of morals, sir; it's one of opinions."
He dismissed this lightly. "Oh, opinions!"