“I can’t,” said Jim quietly. “Good-night, and thank you, Harry.”
More arguments, some rough, some jeering, followed him as he shook his head and walked on towards the darkening lanes beyond the village bounds. He chose mechanically the shortest way to Rowdon; and he had just turned into a by-road overhung by leafless elms, when a galloping pony caught him up, and was reined in with a jerk by his side.
“Jim!”
The lad started violently, and turned in amazement to see Austin Morland leaning from his saddle with hand outstretched.
“Jim! I’ve come after you. Shake hands, old fellow.”
Jim, still staring, obeyed half-consciously. The grip exchanged by the brothers satisfied Austin, and sent through Jim a strange thrill of joy.
“I can’t quite make out things yet,” continued the younger boy, a little shy, but wholly friendly; “my mind’s a bit mixed, I fancy. But I know one thing—if you’re Jim Morland, we’ve got to stick to each other. Eh?”
Jim muttered a choky affirmative.
“Well, you are Jim Morland. Mater says so; and if she seems fussy at first, you and I aren’t going to worry. Perhaps she’ll come round. Anyhow, we’ll stick to each other. Eh?”
“Ay—I’d give the world for you. I’ll not forget.”