“Yes,” replied Eddy, wincing a little, “the college man.” He had not minded at all promulgating that fiction to the ladies. It was immense fun. To do him justice it had been struck off on the spur of the moment, without any intention; but to say it to Rowland, two fellows on the hillside, was a different matter. He began to pull up the tenacious roots of the ling with both hands, struggling with them, and did not meet Archie’s eyes. Nothing could be more innocent than Archie’s eyes, which suspected nothing. Archie had scarcely been conscious of Johnson’s presence at all. He had made no mental remarks as to the breeding or want of breeding of the stranger. He had no theories about a College Don. It is doubtful, indeed, whether he had any clear impression as to what that character was. Eddy added quickly, “He’s a little uncouth. They don’t see much society, these fellows. I would not mix him up with the ladies: but he would be awfully pleased—and when it’s only two young fellows on a moor, you and me—”
“Oh, I have no objections,” said Archie. “Ask him if you like, Saumarez; it was hardly necessary to take the trouble of asking me.”
“You are an awfully good fellow, Rowland!” said Eddy, struck with a faint and very temporary sense of shame.
“Oh, if that’s all,” cried Archie with a smile which lighted up his face. It pleased him that anybody should think so, and still more that Eddy Saumarez should think so. In the exhilaration of that encouragement he went a little further, as the simple giver pleased with his own liberality is so apt to do.
“If there is anything else we can do for him? I’ll tell Roderick to see that it’s all right. And we can go out any day you like. I’m not such a hearty sportsman as you. If it wasn’t a kind of duty—but it’s pleasant when somebody enjoys it,” he said with a glow upon his brightened face.
“I enjoy it—down to the ground,” said Eddy. “It’s not that there’s so very much game; but then one has it all one’s own way. Nobody poking in before you, saying, ‘My bird?’ and then a young fellow has to give in. You’re a lucky dog, Rowland—the cock of the walk so far as the moor goes, and thought no end of at home.”
“Do you think so?” said Archie, with a sort of painful gratification. “I’m afraid that’s more than I can believe. I’m a disappointment to my father, Saumarez. I don’t know what he expected, but he expected something very different from me.”
“They are always like that,” said Eddy, with the air of an authority. “They put you in a certain grind, and then they look out for something quite different. I am just the product of my training; but the Governor jaws at me as if I were a monster: though if all tales be true, he could have given me odds, at my worst.”
Eddy spoke with the composed expression of a man whose worst had been very bad, and who had fathomed all the secrets of life. Archie could not but look on with a certain respect, though his blameless mind recoiled a little from this man of knowledge. He had no experiences of his own save of the most trifling kind, to produce.
“The worst of it all,” said Eddy, “is the money. We have all that’s nice, you know, in the way of living, and places to go to and so forth, but never any money in our pockets. I don’t know if the Governor himself is much better. It all goes on quite smoothly, and I suppose it gets paid. I don’t know. I never have a penny to bless myself with.”