They dined together at a small table by themselves, and had a long talk afterwards about the old Weston fellows, of whom Buller had recent information through Penryhn, who lived near his people at home.
“I know about Robarts,” said Crawley; “he is in the Oxford eleven; but there is your chum Penryhn, what is he doing?”
“Oh, he is in a government office in Somerset House. Not a large income, but safe, and rounded off with a pension. Better than our line, so far as money goes anyhow.”
“I suppose so; but I should not like office work. And Smith, Old Algebra, have you heard of him?”
“Yes, he is mathematical master at a big school.”
“And Gould?”
“Why, don’t you know? It was in all the papers. Gould’s father smashed and died suddenly; did not leave his family a penny. Some friends got Lionel Gould a clerkship in some counting-house; his sister Clarissa, your old friend, you know, supports herself and her mother by the stage.”
“Dear, dear, I am sorry for them; it must be precious hard when they were used to such luxury. And that chap Edwards, have you ever heard of him?”
“Oh, yes, he is at Cambridge, and intends to take orders when he gets his degree.”
“I hope it will keep him out of mischief; I always fancied he might come to grief, he was such a weak beggar.”