"I think you might accept it, old chap," Scott made pacific rejoinder.
Eustace turned back to the table, and began to put his papers together. "I might do many things," he observed, "which, not being a weak-kneed fool, I don't. If you really wish to make your peace with me, you had better do your best to make amends—to pull with me and not against me. For I warn you, Stumpy, you went too far last night. And it is not the first time."
He paused, as if he expected a disclaimer.
Scott waited a second or two; then with a very winning movement he bent and laid his arm across his brother's shoulders. "Try and bear with me, dear chap!" he said.
His voice was not wholly steady. There was entreaty in his action.
Eustace made a sharp gesture of surprise, but he did not repel him. There fell a brief silence between them; then Scott's hand came gently down and closed upon his brother's.
"Life isn't so confoundedly easy at the best of times," he said, speaking almost under his breath. "I'm generally philosopher enough to take it as it comes. But just lately—" he broke off. "Let it be pax, Eustace!" he urged in a whisper.
Eustace's hand remained for a moment or two stiffly unresponsive; then very suddenly it closed and held.
"What's the matter with you?" he said gruffly.
"Oh, I'm a fool, that's all," Scott answered, and uttered a shaky laugh. "Never mind! Forget it like a dear fellow! God knows I don't want to pull against you; but, old chap, we must go slow."