“But you don’t think I can for very long, eh?”
“No; but men are very different. There’s no saying. If you were going to get out of the self-dissecting business altogether though, why should you have brought the subject up at all to-night? It looks awkward for you, doesn’t it?”
Tom began to feel rather forlorn at this suggestion, and probably betrayed it in his face, for Hardy changed the subject suddenly.
LXXXIX.
“You don’t mean to say,” said Tom, “that it makes any real difference to a man in society here in Oxford, whether he is poor or rich; I mean, of course, if he is a gentleman and a good fellow?”
“Yes, it does—the very greatest possible. But don’t take my word for it. Keep your eyes open and judge for yourself; I daresay I’m prejudiced on the subject.”
“Well, I sha’n’t believe it if I can help it,” said Tom; “you know you said just now that you never called on any one. Perhaps you don’t give men a fair chance. They might be glad to know you if you would let them, and may think it’s your fault that they don’t.”
“Very possibly,” said Hardy; “I tell you not to take my word for it.”
“It upsets all one’s ideas so,” went on Tom, “why, Oxford ought to be the place in England where money should count for nothing. Surely, now, such a man as Jervis, our captain, has more influence than all the rich men in the college put together, and is more looked up to?”