“Look here, Lee,” exclaimed Geoffrey, “I’m a man of the world, and rough usage has made me rough. If you want to talk pious platitudes to me by rote, please don’t, for we should be sure to quarrel. I am horribly unholy this morning.”
“But I do not,” exclaimed the vicar, earnestly. “I want to talk to you as a man of the world.”
“Come on, then,” said Geoffrey; “it’s a treat to talk to a civilised being now.”
He thrust his arm through that of the young vicar, and hurried him on and on up-hill till the latter was breathless. Then he stopped.
“Now then!” said Geoffrey, “here we are, right out on the top, with heaven above and the free air around; now talk to me like a man of the world.”
The vicar followed Geoffrey’s example, and threw himself on the short, crisp turf, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and gazing at his companion with a curiously troubled air.
“Now then,” said Geoffrey, “man of the world, make a beginning.”
The vicar hesitated, and Geoffrey smiled.
“Well, I’ll help you,” he said. “You want to know why I have not been at church lately?”
“Yes,” said the vicar, eagerly catching at the ball thrown to him, “I did want to speak to you about that for one thing.”