He stretched out his long legs to the fender, a very contented young Sybarite for the moment. 156
“I say, Chris,” said Sam abruptly, “I must tell you though you’ll think it pretty low of me. But after you came and told us you were living here with Mr. Aston I used to ask people about him. One day I came round here and ... somehow I never took it in. I knew in a way you lived here, but I didn’t know it was like this....” He stumbled over his words in an embarrassed fashion.
“Like what?” demanded Christopher shortly.
“Well, I thought you was here like a sort of servant—not with them exactly—I see now, I never took it in before—you with your own rooms and walking in at the front door and ordering dinner and them blokes in the hall saying ‘sir’ to you—oh, lor’.”
“I told you they had adopted me,” said the other, frowning and rather red.
“I ought to have taken it in, but I didn’t,” continued Sam humbly, “and then you ask me here—and are going to give me a chance—Oh, lor’,—what’s it all for, I want to know? What does it mean?”
Christopher got up and walked away. Had Sam but known it, his chance in life was in dire peril at that moment. Seldom had Christopher felt so angry and never had he felt so out of touch with his companion. Why on earth couldn’t Sam take his luck without wanting reasons. It was so preposterous, in Christopher’s eyes, to want any. In the old days Sam had been ready to share his scant pennies and toys with his small friend. The offer of a ride in a van from the warehouse where Sartin senior worked would have included both of them or neither. What was the difference? What was the use of having plenty if not to share it with a friend?
To his credit he did not allow Sam to guess his irritation, but suggested a return to Cæsar’s room. 157
“Didn’t it take you an awful long time to get used to all this?” inquired Sam, as he followed him.
“I forget. No, I don’t though. I hated it rather at first, the clothes and collars and having to change and be tidy, and all that, but I soon got used to it. Here we are.”