Dick, as he lolled over the side of the boat, slowly hauling up his line and speculating whether he had got two fish on each hook or only one, felt supremely at peace with himself and all the world. The sandwiches had been delicious, Cresswell and Freckleton had treated him like a lord, the pile of fish on the floor of the boat was worthy of a professional crew, the light breeze was just enough to keep the sun in his place, and the sofa he had made for himself with Freckleton’s ulster in the bows was like a feather bed. Dick loved the world and everything in it, and when Cresswell said, “Walk into those sandwiches, young ’un,” he really thought life the sweetest task in which mortal can engage.
Cresswell and Freckleton were scarcely more proof against the luxury of the morning. They chatted in a sort of sleepy undertone, as if they knew all Nature was taking a nap and didn’t want to be disturbed.
“How did you think old Jupiter got through levée?” asked Cresswell.
“Well, for those who wish him well,” said the Hermit.
“Ah, he’s an uphill job before him, and I fancy he knows it. If he ever is down in the mouth, I think he was so last night after it was all over.”
“I thought so too,” said Freckleton; “that is, I shouldn’t call it down in the mouth. He had headache; that’s about the same thing.”
“He’s staked high. No one else would have dared to challenge the whole school in the way he did,” said Cresswell, dropping his voice, but still, in the quiet air, not quite beyond Dick’s hearing.
“It answered; it brought the right fellows to the front.”
“And shut the wrong fellows hopelessly out?”
“I hope not. Many of them are only fools. They think it’s plucky to defy the powers that be, and quite forget it’s pluckier to defy themselves.”