And so we ambled along, drinking in the joys of nature, and chatting of many things. It wasn’t the smart talk of Mayfair, in which I was an expert. It was just straight, frank, none-of-your-damn-nonsense kind, in which we looked at things with our eyes, and not through rose-coloured glasses. And you can talk about many things, once barred, without loss of modesty or self-respect. After all, education has spread. And if education can bring a man and a woman together on an equal plane, our country must benefit. A man wants a girl for a chum, a confidante, and a lifelong companion, and not as a serf, a housekeeper, and just—A COOK.
Yes, that was a memorable day in my life, and it was near the turning-point. The school, with all its deficiencies, was making its mark; while Adela was working hard, although I didn’t notice it at the time. From the dear old commandant, too, I had gained the spirit of tolerance and the milk of human kindness. Captain Cheerall had also stirred me to probe and analyse the human soul; while my comrades had given me the joys of friendship and the value of understanding.
John Brown was beginning to be—A MAN.
After the walk, we had dinner with the family. The mother was a delightful old lady, full of good-nature and shrewd common-sense. The father was equally pleasant; but Winnie, the sister, was down in the depths. She was thinking of Beefy—dear, kind-hearted, devil-may-care, old Beefy.
Women always love the daring Don Juans.
‘Let me help you,’ said Adela, as I took my coat from the stand about half-past ten.
‘Thanks, old girl.’
She lifted it on, then took my arm down the drive. When we got to the gate, she remarked, ‘Johnnie, I want you to do something.’
‘What, Adela?’
‘Give me those telegrams.’