The following day I was enjoying a little hard-earned solitude, and amusing myself by leaning over the bridge and watching the boats below, when a voice at my side startled me. "Ah, my polite letter-writer, is that you? The very chap I want." It was Crofter. My instinct at first, especially on the sly reference to my letter of apology, was to fly. On second thoughts it seemed to me wiser to remain. Crofter and Tempest were on better terms now. It would be best to be civil. "What is it?" I asked. "Can you steer a boat?" "A little," said I. "Does that mean you can run it into the bank every few yards?" "Oh no, I've often steered Tempest and Pridgin." "Come along, then; I'm going to have a spin up to Middle-weir." If there was one thing I enjoyed it was steering a boat, and I was not long in accepting the invitation. Crofter was not conferring a favour on me; only making a convenience of me. So that I was not in any way making up to him. Our relations were that of senior and fag only; and Tempest's and Pridgin's warnings to beware when he was particularly friendly (even if it had not already been cancelled by the fact that they now frequently had Crofter in their rooms) could hardly apply now. For all that, I did not feel quite comfortable, and was glad, on the whole, that the embarkation did not take place under the eyes of my patrons. For some time Crofter sculled on in silence, giving me directions now and again to keep in the stream, or take the boat well out at the corners--which I considered superfluous. Presently, however, when we were clear of Low Heath he slacked off and began to talk. "I enjoyed that letter of yours," said he; "did you write it all yourself?" "Yes," said I, feeling and looking very uncomfortable. "You and Tempest must be quite old chums." "Yes." "It's very rough on him, all this business." "Yes, isn't it?" said I, somewhat won over by this admission. "The worst of it is, it makes the house run down. I expected we were going to do big things this term." "It's not Tempest's fault if we don't," said I. "Of course not. It's Jarman's. Every one knows that. It's rather a pity Tempest takes it so meekly, though. Fellows will think he's either afraid or doesn't care; and neither would be true." "I should think not." There was a pause, during which Crofter sculled on. Then he said,-- "Tempest and I don't hit it, somehow. He doesn't like me, does he?" "Well--no, I don't fancy he does," I admitted. "I dare say he advises you to fight shy of me, and that sort of thing, eh?" This was awkward; but I could not well get out of it. "Yes." Crofter laughed sweetly. "I wish he'd let me be friends. I hate to see a fellow coming to grief, and not be allowed to give him a leg-up." "Tempest's not coming to grief," said I.