David paused for a moment. This morning alone on the hot beach his mind had dwelt long and eagerly on this wonderful friendship, and now, just when it was the very thing that was wanted to comfort Frank, this aspect of it struck him. He remembered how often Frank had, by a seemingly chance word, discouraged him from seeing much of certain fellows in the house; he remembered the night when Hughes came and sat on his bed, and with what extraordinary promptitude Frank had ejected him; he remembered how his dormitory had been changed, and he had been put in Frank’s, and had since then slept in the bed next him. All this with swift certainty started into his mind, and with it the policy that lay behind it. Frank had consistently kept nasty things away from him; here was his atonement. So he went on eagerly. “I know what you’ve done for me,” he said. “You’ve always—since then—had an eye on me, and kept filth away. I’m no end grateful. And since you’ve done that, chalk it up on the other side. You’ve made it easier for me to be decent. Oh, damn, I’m jawing.” David suddenly became aware of this, and stopped abruptly, rolling over on to his side, with his face to his friend. “Haven’t you been doing that on purpose?” he demanded. “I could give you heaps of instances.” “Well, yes.” “Then let’s chuck the whole subject,” said David. “In a moment, I just want to tell you: I tried, instead of corrupting you, to uncorrupt myself. But you did it; it was all your doing. You made me ashamed.” David gave a shy little wriggle towards him. “I never heard of anything so ripping,” he said. “Though it sounds rather cheek.” Maddox sat up. “That’s what you’ve done,” he said. “And if it was cheeky, the other name of that is salvation.” There was silence a moment, and probably David had never known such intense happiness as he tasted then. And, just because he was feeling so deeply, the idea of anything approaching sentiment was impossible. It had been said, and the harvest was garnered. Frank felt that, too; they could not feel differently from each other just then, and away went the whole subject, a mountain a few minutes ago, and now light as thistledown on a summer wind. “It’s done,” he said. “Oh, what was the other thing we brought out? ‘Atalanta in Calydon,’ wasn’t it? First chorus.” “Yes, that would be ripping,” said David. “At the same time it’s just struck three, and we were to play golf at three.” “Jove, so we were! How you must have jawed!” For one second David was not quite certain whether Frank was trying to get a rise out of him or not, with such naturalness did he speak. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m afraid I did.” Frank laughed. “David, it’s no sport trying to get a rise out of you,” he said. “You simply rise at anything. I really didn’t think you’d rise at that.”