David had entered Eton a year before Gaveston ffoulis, but none the less they had thenceforward, for several eventful years, been inseparables. They had been elected to Pop on the same Founder’s Day; they had been bracketed together for the same prizes, had played the Wall Game at the self-same wall, and, through many a long afternoon of drowsy, elm-shadowed cricketing, Agar’s Plough had seen them batting side by side. Nearly all their uproariously happy holidays they had spent together, and Gav, of course, was an instant favourite with all the Paunceford keepers on the Wuthering moors and all the Paunceford gillies on the island of Eigg. They had received (surest sign of popularity) the same nickname, and at the last, one cloudy morning rather before their allotted span of halves, they had left Eton together, for the same reason but in different cabs.
“And I’m only a freshman!” laughed Gaveston, closing the piano-lid. “Why, you’ll have to put me up to everything, David. Come on, take me for a walker.” He already knew his ’Varsity slang.…
Donning cap and gown (for the hour grew late), the two friends descended into the quadrangle, and out into the noisy swirl of Broad Street. In a moment Gaveston found his imagination kindled by his novel surroundings, and, with all the enchanting ardour of adolescence, began to explain to David what Oxford really meant to the world, what ideals its architecture symbolized, and in what respects its traditions needed revision; gracefully, too, he sketched his own tremendous projects, and the methods he planned to achieve them, nor was he slow to advise on the right way of dealing with fourth-year men, dons, scouts, clergymen, proctors, shopkeepers and freshmen.
David listened with astonished admiration on every contour of his superb profile.
“What a wonderful chap you are, Gavvy!” he said affectionately.
“Oh, nothing to what I shall be!” came the laughing answer. Already Gav could feel the keen Oxford air whetting that wit of his which had been the fear and admiration of Eton.
“Oh, how I wish I were clever—really clever, I mean, like you, Gav!” and David sighed as he marvelled yet again at his friend’s uncanny perspicacity.
“But you are, David, without knowing it.”
“What nonsense! What’s the good of being just a crack cricketer or a——”
Gaveston was quick as a flash.