Oover’s face, like his nature, was as sensitive as it was massive, and it instantly expressed his pain at the doubt cast on his high seriousness. “Duke,” he asked, “d’you take me for a skunk?”
“Without pretending to be quite sure what a skunk is,” said the Duke, “I take you to be all that it isn’t. And the high esteem in which I hold you is the measure for me of the loss that your death would be to America and to Oxford.”
Oover blushed. “Duke” he said “that’s a bully testimonial. But don’t worry. America can turn out millions just like me, and Oxford can have as many of them as she can hold. On the other hand, how many of YOU can be turned out, as per sample, in England? Yet you choose to destroy yourself. You avail yourself of the Unwritten Law. And you’re right, Sir. Love transcends all.”
“But does it? What if I told you I had changed my mind?”
“Then, Duke,” said Oover, slowly, “I should believe that all those yarns I used to hear about the British aristocracy were true, after all. I should aver that you were not a white man. Leading us on like that, and then—Say, Duke! Are you going to die to-day, or not?”
“As a matter of fact, I am, but—”
“Shake!”
“But—”
Oover wrung the Duke’s hand, and was passing on. “Stay!” he was adjured.
“Sorry, unable. It’s just turning eleven o’clock, and I’ve a lecture. While life lasts, I’m bound to respect Rhodes’ intentions.” The conscientious Scholar hurried away.