“We have all got aims in life, I suppose; I wish we were all as likely to succeed in them as you are, Bob.”
“I haven’t got an aim in life,” said Bob, turning round as if affronted.
“No? I thought your aim was to be the greatest dunce in the county. It’s well to know one’s own line, and do a thing well while one’s about it. A low aim’s a mistake in all things.”
Jack laid down his pen, and stared hard at Cheriton. Bob waited unconscious, expecting the smile and twinkle that took the sting out of all Cherry’s mischief, but none came.
“Come now, you needn’t be down on a fellow in that way,” he said, angrily. “My line mayn’t be yours, but I’ll—I’ll stick to it one day.”
“I just observed that you were sticking to it now, heart and soul. Let all your wits lie fallow; with the skill and energy you are showing at present, you may get to the level of a ploughboy in time.”
“I say, Cherry,” said Jack, “that’s a little strong.”
Bob shut the book with a bang and stood up.
“I’m not going to stand that,” he said; and Cheriton recollected himself and coloured. “I beg your pardon, Bob,” he said. “It was too bad. I—I was only joking. Will you go on now?”
“No,” said Bob. “I won’t be made game of.”