In complexion he was fair, and healthy to look at, generally sunburned in the summer, for he had a habit of reading out of doors; his laugh was very pleasant, though it was rarely heard; his eyes were honest but generally thoughtful; his frame was sturdy and already inclined rather to strength than to graceful proportion; his head matched his body well, being broad and well-shaped with plenty of prominence over the brows and plenty of fulness above the temples.  He had a way of standing as though it would not be easy to move him, and a way of expressing his opinion which seemed to challenge contradiction.  But he was not a combative boy.  If any one argued with him, it soon appeared that he was not really argumentative, but merely enthusiastic.  It was not necessary to agree with him, and there was small use in contradicting him.  The more he talked the more enthusiastic he grew as he developed his own views; until seeing that he was not understood or that he was merely laughed at, he would end his discourse with a merry laugh at himself, or a shy apology for having talked so much.  But the vicar assured his wife that the boy’s Greek and Latin verses were something very extraordinary indeed, and much better than his own in his best days.  For John was passionately fond of the classics and did not propose to acquire any more mathematical knowledge than was strictly necessary for his matriculation and “little-go.”  He meant to be a famous scholar and he meant to get a fellowship at his college in order to be perfectly independent and to help his father.

John was a constant source of wonder to his companion the Honourable Cornelius Angleside, who remembered to have seen fellows of that sort at Eton but had never got near enough to them to know what they were really like.  Cornelius had a vague idea that there was some trick about appearing to know so much and that those reading chaps were awful humbugs.  How the trick was performed he did not venture to explain, but he was as firmly persuaded that it was managed by some species of conjuring as that Messrs. Maskelyne and Cook performed their wonders by sleight of hand.  That one human brain should actually contain the amount of knowledge John Short appeared to possess was not credible to the Honourable Cornelius, and the latter spent more of his time in trying to discover how John “did it” than in trying to “do it” himself.  Nevertheless, young Angleside liked Short after his own fashion, and Short did not dislike Angleside.  John’s father had given him to understand that as a general rule persons of wealth and good birth were a set of overbearing, purse-proud bullies, who considered men of genius to be little better than a set of learned monkeys, certainly not good enough to black their boots.  For John’s father in his misfortunes had imbibed sundry radical notions formerly peculiar to poor literary men, and not yet altogether extinct, and he had accordingly warned his son that all mammon was the mammon of unrighteousness,