“If a thing isn't wrong, and you can afford it, and it doesn't hurt anybody! Just so; well, then, mustn't it be right for you to have? You wouldn't have it put under your nose, I suppose, just for you to smell at, and let it alone?”
“Yes, I know all that. I've been over it often enough, and there's truth in it. But, mind you, it's rather slippery ground, especially for a freshman; and there's a good deal to be said on the other side—I mean, for denying oneself just for the sake of the self denial.”
“Well, they don't deny themselves the pleasure of looking at a fellow as if he were a Turk, because he likes St. Paul's better than Westminster Abbey.”
“How that snubbing you got at the Ecclesiological wine party seems to rankle.—There now! don't bristle up like a hedgehog. I'll never mention that unfortunate wine again. I saw the eight come in to-day. You were keeping much better time, but there is a weak place or two forward.”
“Yes,” said Tom, delighted to change the subject, “I find it awfully hard to pull up to Jervis's stroke. Do you think I shall ever get to it?”
“Of course you will. Why you have only been pulling behind him a dozen times or so, and his is the most trying stroke on the river. You quicken a little on it; but I didn't mean you. Two and five are the blots in the boat.”
“You think so?” said Tom, much relieved. “So does Miller, I can see. It's so provoking—Drysdale is to pull two in the races next term, and Blake seven, and then Diogenes will go to five. He's obliged to pull seven now, because Blake won't come down this term; no more will Drysdale. They say there will be plenty of time after Easter.”
“It's a great pity,” said Hardy.
“Isn't it,” said Tom; “and it makes Miller so savage. He walks into us all as if it were our faults. Do you think he's a good coxswain?”
“First rate on most points, but rather too sharp tongued. You can't get a man's best out of him without a little praise.”