Tembarom's face reddened a little.
“I guess it'd seem rather fresh for me to tell you how I shall miss you,” he said. “I said that first day that I didn't know how to tell you how I—well, how I felt about you giving a mutt like me that big chance. You never thought I didn't know how little I did know, did you?” he inquired almost anxiously.
“That was it—that you did know and that you had the backbone and the good spirits to go in and win,” Galton replied. “I'm a tired man, and good spirits and good temper seem to me about the biggest assets a man can bring into a thing. I shouldn't have dared do it when I was your age. You deserved the Victoria Cross,” he added, chuckling.
“What's the Victoria Cross?” asked Tembarom.
“You'll find out when you go to England.”
“Well, I'm not supposing that you don't know about how many billion things I'll have to find out when I go to England.”
“There will be several thousand,” replied Galton moderately; “but you'll learn about them as you go on.”
“Say,” said Tembarom, reflectively, “doesn't it seem queer to think of a fellow having to keep up his spirits because he's fallen into three hundred and fifty thousand a year? You wouldn't think he'd have to, would you?”
“But you find he has?” queried Galton, interestedly.
Tembarom's lifted eyes were so honest that they were touching.