"Well, go ahead, then," answered his friend, gaily. "Father didn't tell me so, and I suppose I must go home."
"Oh bother—come on and get some dinner with me; then when the pelting storm is over we'll go up together."
So the two came into the great dining-room, and Tode came briskly forward to help them. Tode had been in his new sphere for more than three weeks, and already began to pride himself on being the briskest "fellow in the lot."
Pliny Hastings ordered dinner for two with an ease and promptness that proved him to be quite accustomed to the proceeding; and Tode dodged hither and thither, and finally hovered near, and looked on with admiring eyes as the two ate and drank, and talked and laughed. Thus far in his life Tode had been, without being aware of it, a believer in "blood descent," distinct spheres in life, and all that sort of nonsense. He was a boy to be sure, but it had never so much as occurred to him that he could be even remotely connected with such specimens of boyhood as were before him now. Not that they were any better than he. Oh no, Tode never harbored such a thought for a moment; but then they were different, that he saw, and like many another unthinking mortal, he never gave a thought to the difference that home, and culture, and Christianity must necessarily make. But what nonsense am I talking! Tode didn't know there were any such words, but then there are people who do, and who reason no better than did he.
While he looked and enjoyed, Pliny was seized with a new want, and leaned back in his chair with the query:
"Where's Tompkins? Oh, Mr. Tompkins, here you are. Can you make Ben and me something warm and nice this cold day?"
Mr. Tompkins paused in his rush through the room.
"In a very few minutes, Master Hastings, I will be at your service. Let me see—could you wait five minutes?"
Pliny nodded.
"Very well then. Tode, you may come below in five minutes, and I shall be ready."