Arthur would himself have been happier with a Fellowship than with any other position, but the possibility did not stimulate him to work with that aim in view.  He wrote:  “Existence generally is so extremely problematical, that I can not consent to throw away three birds in the hand for one which I do not believe to be in the bush—­my present life for a doubtful future provision.  I think I am ambitious after the event.  Every normal human being ought to be capable either of strong expectation or strong disappointment, according as the character lives most in the future or in the past.  Those capable of both generally succeed and are unhappy men; but an entire want of ambition argues a low vitality.  If a man tells me loftily he has no ambition, I tell him I am very sorry for him, and say that it is almost as common an experience as having no principles, and often accompanying it, only that people are generally ashamed to confess the latter.”

On his appearing in the second class, his father wrote him rather an indignant letter, saying that he had suspected all along that he was misusing his time and wasting his opportunities, but that he had refrained from saying so because he had trusted him; that his one prayer for his children was that they might not turn out useless, dilettante, or frivolous, selfish men.  “I had hoped that whatever they engaged in my sons would say, ’If this is worth doing, it is worth doing well.’  I did not want them to say, ’I mean to work in order to be first in this or that, to beat other people, to court success’—­I do not suspect you of that—­but to say, ’I mean to do my best, and if I am rewarded with honours to accept them gratefully, as a sign that my endeavours have been blest.’  I fear that in your case you have done what pleased yourself—­sucked the honey of the work, or tried to; that always ends in bitterness.  You were capable of taking the higher ground; it seems to me that you have taken neither—­and indecision in such matters is the one thing that does not succeed either in this world or the next; the one thing which the children of this world unanimously agree with the children of light in despising and censuring.

“P.S.—­You used to speak of possibly taking orders; set to work seriously on that if you haven’t changed your mind; for that is what I have always hoped and prayed for you.  Let me see that you are capable of executing as well as planning a high resolve finely.”

Arthur’s behaviour on receiving this letter was very characteristic.  He did not answer it.

It was a habit he had which got him into considerable odium with people.  Whenever a letter entailed making up his mind—­an invitation which had two sides to it—­a decision—­a request for advice or immediate action—­these rarely extorted an answer from him.  “It did not seem to me to be very important,” he used to say.  Neither would he be dictated to.  A friend who had asked him to form one of a football eleven, receiving no reply, inclosed two post-cards addressed to himself, on one of which was written “Yes,” and on the other “No.”  Arthur posted them both.