“Of course you aren’t,” warmly replied the other. “But, Noll, you told me a little while ago you didn’t care a snap what they thought.”
“No more I do, in a way. But it’s very uncomfortable.”
“Why don’t you tell them straight out why you didn’t let out at Loman? They are sure to respect your motive.”
“Yes, and set me down as posing as a martyr or a saint! No! I’d sooner pass as a coward than set up as a saint when I’m not one. Why, Wray, if you’ll believe me, I’ve been a worse Christian since I began to try to be one, than I ever was before. I’m for ever losing my temper, and—”
“Shut up that tune, now,” interposed Wraysford, hurriedly. “If you are beginning at that again, I’ll go. As if you didn’t know you were the best fellow in the school!”
“I’m not the best, or anything like,” said Oliver, warmly; “I hate your saying so—I wish almost I had never told you anything about it.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Wraysford, walking to the window and looking out. “Ever since you told me of it, I’ve been trying myself in a mild way to go straight. But it’s desperate hard work.”
“Desperate hard work even if you try in more than a mild way,” said Oliver.
Both were silent for a little, and then Oliver, hurriedly changing the subject, said, “And then, to proceed with my growl, I’m certain to come a howler over the Nightingale.”
Wraysford turned from the window with a laugh.