“Not very encouraging, Oliver!”
“It was rather a blow,” said Noll. “But I think a woman ought to be offish at first. I don’t like ’em too easily captured myself.”
“May I ask,” said Gomme grimly, “if she be a lady of position?”
“Well—her antecedents are somewhat humble. Her father is a—well—he’s a butcher. But every tragedy should have comic relief—shouldn’t it, Netherby?”
Netherby Gomme shook his head solemnly where he sat:
“Noll, you are very, very old. Let us try to be young again.”
“It’s so beastly slow being young,” grumbled Noll. “When I’m a man—Jeroos’lum! I should like to be a man—and shave!”
“And then you’ll damn the razor.... Ah, Noll, it is with the razor that youth cuts its throat.”
There was a long pause. The boy sat brooding on some perplexing problem; the yellow-haired youth watched him.
Noll broke the silence. He slipped down off his high seat, and came over to Gomme: