'My scapegoat and my drudge at school,' he said, raising his head
to look after him; 'my friend of later days, who could not keep his
mistress when he had won her, and threw me in her way to carry off the
prize; I triumph in the present and the past. Bark on, ill-favoured,
ill-conditioned cur; fortune has ever been with me--I like to hear you.'
The spot where they had met, was in an avenue of trees. Mr Haredale not
passing out on either hand, had walked straight on. He chanced to turn
his head when at some considerable distance, and seeing that his late
companion had by that time risen and was looking after him, stood still
as though he half expected him to follow and waited for his coming up.
'It MAY come to that one day, but not yet,' said Mr Chester, waving his
hand, as though they were the best of friends, and turning away. 'Not
yet, Haredale. Life is pleasant enough to me; dull and full of heaviness
to you. No. To cross swords with such a man--to indulge his humour
unless upon extremity--would be weak indeed.'
For all that, he drew his sword as he walked along, and in an
absent humour ran his eye from hilt to point full twenty times. But
thoughtfulness begets wrinkles; remembering this, he soon put it up,
smoothed his contracted brow, hummed a gay tune with greater gaiety of
manner, and was his unruffled self again.
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