“I’m not. Dead earnest.”
Again the boat shot on, but Christopher stopped rowing. Sam looked back over his shoulder.
“You’re lazy. Why don’t you pull?”
Christopher obeyed mechanically. He knew he could afford to be patient now.
“Easy,” said the stroke at last.
There was a smooth reach of water before them. Low meadows with reddish muddy banks lay on either side, no house or any living soul was in sight. Sam rubbed his hands on his trousers, looked back at his friend and away again.
“You mean you’ll start me in any trade I like? ’Prentice me?”
“Any trade or profession.”
“What do you do it for, anyhow?”
“Cæsar suggested it. He said I might if I liked.”