Michael thought that Avery, Wedderburn and Lonsdale might be considered to form the nucleus of the intimate ideal society which his imagination was leading him on to shape. And if that trio seemed not completely to represent the forty freshmen of St. Mary’s, there might be added to the list certain others for qualities of athletic renown that combined with charm of personality gave them the right to be set up in Michael’s collection as types. There was Grainger, last year’s Captain of the Boats at Eton, who would certainly row for the ‘Varsity in the spring. Michael liked to sit in his rooms and watch his sprawling bulk and listen for an hour at a time to his naïve theories of life. Grainger seemed to shed rays of positive goodness, and Michael found that he exercised over this splendid piece of youth a fascination which to himself was surprising.
“Great Scott, you are an odd chap,” Grainger once ejaculated.
“Why?”
“Why, you’re a clever devil, aren’t you, and you don’t seem to do anything. Have I talked a lot of rot?”
“A good deal,” Michael admitted. “At least, it would be rot if I talked it, but it would be ridiculous if you talked in any other way.”
“You are a curious chap. I can’t make you out.”
“Why should you?” asked Michael. “You were never sent into this world to puzzle out things. You were sent here to sprawl across it just as you’re sprawling across that sofa. When you go down, you’ll go into the Egyptian Civil Service and you’ll sprawl across the Sahara in exactly the same way. I rather wish I were like you. It must be quite comfortable to sit down heavily and unconcernedly on a lot of people. I can’t imagine a more delightful mattress; only I should feel them wriggling under me.”
“I suppose you’re a Radical. They say you are,” Grainger lazily announced through puffed-out fumes of tobacco.
“I suppose I might be,” said Michael, “if I wanted to proclaim myself anything at all, but I’d much rather watch you sprawling effectively and proclaiming yourself a supporter of Conservatism. I’ve really very little inclination to criticize people like you. It’s only in books I think you’re a little boring.”
Term wore on, and a pleasurable anticipation was lent to the coming vacation by a letter which Michael received from his mother.