When this amusement ceased to divert him, he announced his intention of going on the stage, of not going home till morning, and of being rowed down the river in the meantime.
"But where will you get a boat at this time of night?" the Tenor objected.
"You're not a man of much imagination," said the Boy, "or you wouldn't have asked such a question. How do you suppose I come every night, after all the world is barred and bolted out of your sacred Close, and the alternative lies between the porter at the postern, whom you know I shun, and the water-gate?"
"Do you mean to say you row yourself down the river, every time you come?"
"I do," said the Boy complacently.
"I didn't think you could!" was the Tenor's naive ejaculation.
The Boy was delighted. "It never struck you, I suppose," he chuckled, "that my fragile appearance might be delusive? Haven't you noticed I never tire?"
"Yes," said the Tenor. "But I thought that you probably paid for these nights of dissipation by days of languor."
The Boy laughed again. "Don't know the sensation," he declared. "Days of laziness would be nearer the mark. I have plenty of them."
It was a lovely night, all pervaded by the fragrance of the flowers in the gardens round about the Close.