Dick stopped short, and looked half angrily at his brother-officer.
“I’m speaking seriously, lad,” said Wyatt, “to my brother-officer. You see, Dick, you are only a boy yet, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. Be proud of being a boy till nature turns you into a man, and then be a man.”
“I don’t quite understand you, sir,” said Dick.
“Yes, you do; and now you’re being a sham with me while I’m trying to keep you from being a sham with the men, who would see it directly, and laugh at it as soon as our backs are turned. I say, young un, don’t you know that a good boy is far better than a bad man?”
“A good boy!” said Dick, with his lip curling. “You speak to me as if I were a child. You’ll be calling me a naughty boy next.”
“What a young fire-eater you are!” said Wyatt good-humouredly. “I didn’t mean a good boy, the opposite of a naughty boy. You know well enough what I mean—a boy who is a boy, a frank brick of a boy who acts up to what he really is—not one of your affected imitation men, young apes, puppies who are ashamed of being boys—young idiots. Look here, young un; I took to you last night because you were frank and straightforward, and behaved as if you knew that you were only a boy.”
“Well, I do know it, of course; but I don’t want people to be always throwing it in my teeth.”
“Nobody will, my lad, unless you make them. It’s in your own hands. Whenever a lad gets that it’s because he has been making a monkey of himself by trying to imitate what he is not.”
“Well, but I was not just now.”
“What!” cried Wyatt.