“I don’t want to treat them at all,” said Matt.
“Well, anyway, do something, you old duffer. You don’t want to go grubbing along at ten bob a week—or was it tenpence a day? I forget. Promise me to do a picture for the next show, or I sha’n’t feel easy in my mind about you.”
“I promise,” Matt murmured.
“That’s right,” said Herbert, considerably relieved. He went on heartily: “The Academy is the stepping-stone. It’s no good kicking it out of the way. Put a picture in the Academy, by fair means if thou canst, but—put a picture in the Academy. You see, even Cornpepper had to come to us. And even if you will do new-fangled stuff, you can always get in if you make the picture a certain queer size—just to fit an awkward corner. I forget the exact measurements, but the Old Gentleman knows; he took care to find out in case I couldn’t get in legitimately. I’ll make a point of asking him. Poor old governor! I don’t suppose he’ll sleep to-night. Why, he was quite blubbery when the cab drove off. Do you know, there’s a certain pathos about the Old Gentleman.”
“He’s been very good to you,” said Matt.
“Well, and now he is happy. Virtue rewarded. The cream of the joke is that now I’ve got to go abroad in spite of him—travelling studentship, you see—and he can’t possibly chuck business for a year to come with me.”
“Was the money in that envelope?” Matt asked.
“Only the first quarterly instalment. What a shame I can’t pay you out of that! Only I must study abroad with the money. It wouldn’t be honest to use it for any other purpose, would it?”
“Don’t talk of it,” said Matt, flushing from a sense of the misconstruction of his thoughtless query.
“Oh, don’t be so shocked. You look as if I had already misappropriated it. I can’t tell you how glad I was to see your dear old phiz to-night. What have you been doing with yourself? I often wondered why you didn’t look me up at the club. By-the-way, here we are at the club.”