"Look here, Lionel," said Harry again, after a pause; this time eliciting for response, the one word-- "Bother!" "I really cannot stand this sort of thing any longer," said Harry, without noticing the other's coolness. "You know why I am here--you know why your father wished me to be with you; and really I cannot consent to go on, week after week, in this unsatisfactory manner." "Why not?" said the other, coolly emitting a puff of smoke. "Why not? Because I feel as if I were robbing him. A month gone to-day, and what have we done?" "Done! Seen no end of life, my boy--studied from nature. What more would you have?" "Life!" exclaimed Harry, bitterly; "do you call that wretchedly artificial existence that we have seen by gaslight, life? If I were a moralist, I should call it the well-lighted ante-chamber of the pit; but I won't preach." "No, don't, that's a good fellow. Daresay you're quite right, but it's a very pleasant way of getting down to the pit all the same. But I say, Harry, don't bother; you've been very jolly so far. Let's go on just the same." "And your father?" "Bless his old heart! what about him? Sent me a cheque, this morning-- extra, you know--and hoped we get on well together. He's got a first-rate opinion of you. By the way, write and acknowledge the cheque, and say we get on first-rate." "But, Redgrave, pray be serious." "So I am," exclaimed the other, pettishly, as he dashed his cigar out of the window, and suddenly rose to a sitting posture. "Now, look here, Clayton. I like having you with me, 'pon my soul, I do; you act like ballast to me, you do indeed. I'm given to carrying too much sail, and if it was not for you, I should be like my little yacht, the _Kittiwake_, in a squall, and on my beam ends in no time." Harry tapped the table impatiently with his fingers. "Now, look here, Harry," continued Lionel; "as to robbery, don't you be a fool. You're saving the governor no end by keeping down my expenses; for you know, Harry, I am rather afraid of you, I am indeed; but I want you to stop with me all the same. Don't speak; it's my turn to preach now. As to reading, and all that sort of thing, studying, and working up--I can't read, and I won't read. I'm not clever, and classics are no use to me, and never will be, with my income. What the deuce do I care about Homer and Virgil, and all the rest of the Greek and Roman humbugs? It's right enough for a clever fellow like you--all brains. But, 'pon my soul, Harry, if you bother me any more, I'll swear, and then I'll bite, so there's an end of it." Harry shrugged his shoulders, and then in despair closed the book at his side, gazing the while, with a serio-comic look of chagrin, in the handsome Saxon face of the speaker. "'Taint your fault, Harry; so just hold your tongue and have a cigar, and pitch me over another, for I'm dog tired."