“I think I shall bear it better,” said Peter, “if she takes you, ‘Laddin.”
A flash of comparison between his somewhat morbid and warped self and the bigness and nobility of his friend passed through Aladdin’s mind. He glanced covertly at the strong, emaciated face beside him, and noted the steadiness and purity of the eyes. A little quixotic flame, springing like an orchid from nothing, blazed suddenly in his heart, and for the instant he was the better man of the two.
“I hope she takes you, Peter,” he said.
They rolled on through the midsummer woods, heavy with bright leaves and waist-deep with bracken; little brooks, clean as whistles, piped away among immaculate stones, and limpid light broken by delicious shadows fell over all.
“Who shall ask her first?” said Aladdin. Peter smiled. “Shall we toss for it?” said Aladdin. Peter laughed gaily. “Do you really want it to be like that?” he said.
“What’s the use of our being friends,” said Aladdin, “if we are not going to back each other up in this of all things?”
“Right!” said Peter. “But you ought to have the first show because you mentioned it first.”
“Rubbish!” said Aladdin. “We’ll toss, but not now; we’ll wait till we get there.”
Peter looked at his watch.
“Nearly in,” he said.