Oh, certainly, I'll get on with my apple-cart and tell you about the book.
Well, the short and the long of it is that Fenwick Major began to go to the dogs, the way you and I have seen a many go. Oh, it's a gay road—room inside, and a penny all the way. But there's always the devil to pay at the far end. I'm not preaching, fellows; only, you take my word for it and keep clear.
Yet, in spite of the dogs, there was no mistake but Fenwick Major could work. His father was a parson—white hair on his shoulders, venerable old boy, all that sort of thing. Had coached Fenwick till he was full as a sheep-tick. So he got two medals that session, and the fellows—his own set—gave him a supper—whisky-toddy, and we'll not go home till morning—that style! But most of them wouldn't even go home when it was morning. They went down to the Royal and tried to break in with sticks—young fools! The bobbies scooped them by couples and ran them in. They were all in court the next day. Most of the fellows gave their right enough names, but they agreed to lie about Fenwick's for his father's sake and his medals. Most of them were colonial medicals anyway. It didn't matter a toss-up to them. So Fenwick went home all right with his two medals. His father met him at the station, proud as Punch. His mother took possession of the medals; and when she thought that Fenwick Major was out of the way, she took them all round the parish in her black reticule basket, velvet cases and all, and showed them to the goodwives.
Fenwick Minor was home from school, and went about like a dog worshipping his big brother. This is all about Fenwick Minor.
But Greenbrae parish and its humble, poor simpletons of folk did not content Fenwick Major long. He went back to Edinburgh, as he told his father, to read during the summer session; and when we came up again in November, Fenwick Major was going it harder than ever.
[Jo Bentley and Tad Anderson look at each other. They know all about that.
CHIRNSIDE (continues). Then he gave up attending class much, only turning up for examinations. He had fits of grinding like fire at home. Again he would chuck the whole thing, and lounge all day and most of the night about shops in the shady lanes back of the Register. So we knew that Fenwick Major was burning his fingers. Then he cut classes and grinds altogether, and when I met him next, blest if he didn't cut me. That wasn't much, of course, and maybe showed his good taste. But it was only a year since we chummed—and I knew his people, you know.
Fact was, we felt somebody ought to speak to Fenwick—so all the fellows said. But of course, when it came to the point, they pitched on me, and stuck at me till they made me promise.
So I met him and said to him: "Now, look here, Fenwick, this is playing it pretty low down on the old man at home and your mother. Better let up on this drinking and cutting round loose. It's skittles anyway, and will come to no good!" Just as I would say to you fellows.
I think Fenwick Major was first of all a bit staggered at my speaking to him. Later he came to himself, and told me where to go for a meddling young hypocrite.