“And might one be allowed to question what are the advantages to be gained from such a sojourn? What manner of recreation can the place afford? In a word, where do I come in?”
“Advantages!” Corin raised his eyes to the cobwebby rafters. “Heavens above! Isn’t my companionship an advantage? And for recreation what more can you desire than the contemplation of country lanes and wide moorland this glorious summer weather? Think of it, man! The earth ablaze with purple heather, the sea blue and golden,—breathing, living, colour. Anon there will be blackberries, great luscious clusters of blue-black fruit hanging ready for the plucking in every hedgerow. Again, I ask, what more can you desire?”
John smiled grimly.
“I am not, I would have you observe, either an artist or a boy. Your inducements fail to move me.”
“My companionship,” urged Corin.
“The blatant conceit of the man,” sighed John.
Corin changed his tone, descended to wheedling. “Consider my loneliness,” he remarked pathetically. “From six o’clock—I can’t put in more than an eight-hour day—till midnight alone and unoccupied. Six hours!”
“Go to bed at nine and reduce the six hours by a simple process of subtraction to three, or play patience,” returned John unsympathetically.
“Inhuman brute,” mourned Corin.
John merely laughed.