“I would rather go elephant and lion hunting for a year than become prime minister of England,” he observed, laughing. “Nothing could compensate me for not being allowed to live in the country,—the largest fortune would not, had I to spend it in London; and I should prefer Australia or New Zealand, or the wilds of the Cape Colony, or Natal, or the backwoods of Canada. Still I am a Briton, and wherever I might go I should like to live under the flag of old England.”
Ernest and Buttar echoed the last sentiment.
“But,” said Ernest, “for my part I should not wish to live without the society of my equals in knowledge and intelligence. In my opinion, the interchange of ideas and information is one of the charms of existence. In that way we get, in the most agreeable manner, at the pith and marrow of books, at the opinions of other people, and at what is going forward in the world: don’t you think so, Buttar?”
Buttar, though a clever fellow, had not as yet thought much about the matter. He remarked, however, that if he could get information by talking, or rather by hearing others talk, that it would be much pleasanter often than having to pore over books. But that was not what Ernest meant. “Ah, but there must be a fair exchange of ideas and information, to make social intercourse as pleasant as it is capable of being. You must give as much as you take.”
“Well, I never before thought of that,” remarked Gregson. “I have never yet fallen in with people willing to talk of my favourite subjects. Perhaps if I was to meet them I should enjoy their conversation as much as you suppose you would those of literary characters or other well-informed persons.”
“Oh, I am not alluding to literary characters, as you call them,” said Ernest. “I mean well-informed, intelligent, unprejudiced persons; or, what would be still more agreeable, would be to collect people who have devoted themselves to different branches of science, and who are yet fully capable of understanding each other’s peculiar subjects.”
So the schoolboys talked on as they walked briskly towards the scene they proposed for their sport.
“But do not let us forget Hodge,” said Ernest. “Hereabouts he dwells, I believe. Let us inquire at this cottage.” An old woman came forth from the door where they knocked, and told them that John Hodge lived better nor a quarter of a mile down the road, and he, poor man, was sure to be at home, for he had met with an accident, and, she had heard say, was very ill, and had been out of work for many a long day. They thanked her and hurried on.
“Ought we to go and trouble him?” asked Buttar.
“Certainly, he may want assistance,” was Ernest’s thoughtful reply.