“Well, that is all the good done by subscribing to a news-cutting agency for news of one’s friends. I feel as low as ditch water. There is that idiot who goes off to the ends of the earth for three years, and when he comes back his friends get no good of him for the confounded women.” George echoed the ancient complaint which is doubtless old as David and Jonathan.
Then these two desolated young men, in view of their friend’s defection, were full of sad memories, much as relations after a funeral hymn the acts of the deceased.
George lit a cigar and smoked it savagely. “So that is the end of Lewis! And to think I knew the fool at school and college and couldn’t make a better job of him than this! Do you remember, John, how we used to call him ‘Vaulting Ambition,’ because he won the high jump and was a cocky beggar in general?”
“And do you remember when he got his First, and they wanted him to stand for a fellowship, but he was keen to get out of England and travel? Do you remember that last night at Heston, when he told us all he was going to do, and took a bet with Wratislaw about it?”
It is probable that this sad elegy would have continued for hours, had not a servant approached with letters, which he distributed, two to Arthur Mordaunt and one to Mr. Winterham. A close observer might have seen that two of the envelopes were identical. Arthur slipped one into his pocket, but tore open the other and read.
“It’s from Lewie,” he cried. “He wants me down there next week at Etterick. He says he is all alone and crazy to see old friends again.”
“Mine’s the same!” said George, after puzzling out Mr. Haystoun’s by no means legible writing. “I say, John, of course we’ll go. It’s the very chance we were wishing for.”
Then he added with a cheerful face, “I begin to think better of human nature. Here were we abusing the poor man as a defaulter, and ten minutes after he heaps coals of fire on our heads. There can’t be much truth in what that newspaper says, or he wouldn’t want his friends down to spoil sport.”
“I wonder what he’ll be like? Wratislaw saw him in town, but only for a little, and he notices nothing. He’s rather famous now, you know, and we may expect to find him very dignified and wise. He’ll be able to teach us most things, and we’ll have to listen with proper humility.”
“I’ll give you fifty to one he’s nothing of the kind,” said George. “He has his faults like us all, but they don’t run in that line. No, no, Lewie will be modest enough. He may have the pride of Lucifer at heart, but he would never show it. His fault is just this infernal modesty, which makes him shirk fighting some blatant ass or publishing his merits to the world.”