“And then? Why be rash? One can’t foresee the future.”
Before the magnificence of this rebuke Matt shrank abashed; he had a sneaking twinge of shame and concern for his own homely honesty, as for something inauspiciously inartistic.
“Talking of money,” went on Herbert, “I’m devilish hard up myself for a day or two—bills to meet at once, and my allowance don’t come due for a few days. You couldn’t advance me a trifle, I suppose?”
“Of course I could,” said Matt, eagerly.
“Do you think you could let me have a pony?”
“A pony?” repeated Matt, mystified.
“Twenty-five pounds. Don’t do it if it will at all inconvenience you.”
Matt was glad that it was too dark for Herbert to read his face. The sum was by far the greater portion of his worldly possessions. But he did not hesitate. Herbert would refund it in a day or two.
“I will bring it to the studio to-morrow,” he said.
“That’s a good chap,” said Herbert. “By-the-way, we’ve got to go to Cornpepper’s studio next Sunday week.”