In a very little while (for, as I expected, I got my fellowship) the boy became the favourite of the whole College—­where, all orders and regulations to the contrary notwithstanding, he was continually in and out—­a sort of chartered libertine, in whose favour all rules were relaxed.  The offerings made at his shrine were simply without number, and I had serious difference of opinion with one old resident Fellow, now long dead, who was usually supposed to be the crustiest man in the University, and to abhor the sight of a child.  And yet I discovered, when a frequently recurring fit of sickness had forced Job to keep a strict look-out, that this unprincipled old man was in the habit of enticing the boy to his rooms and there feeding him upon unlimited quantities of brandy-balls, and making him promise to say nothing about it.  Job told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself, “at his age, too, when he might have been a grandfather if he had done what was right,” by which Job understood had got married, and thence arose the row.

But I have no space to dwell upon those delightful years, around which memory still fondly hovers.  One by one they went by, and as they passed we two grew dearer and yet more dear to each other.  Few sons have been loved as I love Leo, and few fathers know the deep and continuous affection that Leo bears to me.

The child grew into the boy, and the boy into the young man, while one by one the remorseless years flew by, and as he grew and increased so did his beauty and the beauty of his mind grow with him.  When he was about fifteen they used to call him Beauty about the College, and me they nicknamed the Beast.  Beauty and the Beast was what they called us when we went out walking together, as we used to do every day.  Once Leo attacked a great strapping butcher’s man, twice his size, because he sang it out after us, and thrashed him, too—­thrashed him fairly.  I walked on and pretended not to see, till the combat got too exciting, when I turned round and cheered him on to victory.  It was the chaff of the College at the time, but I could not help it.  Then when he was a little older the undergraduates found fresh names for us.  They called me Charon, and Leo the Greek god!  I will pass over my own appellation with the humble remark that I was never handsome, and did not grow more so as I grew older.  As for his, there was no doubt about its fitness.  Leo at twenty-one might have stood for a statue of the youthful Apollo.  I never saw anybody to touch him in looks, or anybody so absolutely unconscious of them.  As for his mind, he was brilliant and keen-witted, but not a scholar.  He had not the dulness necessary for that result.  We followed out his father’s instructions as regards his education strictly enough, and on the whole the results, especially in the matters of Greek and Arabic, were satisfactory.  I learnt the latter language in order to help to teach it to him, but after five years of it he knew it as well as I did—­almost as well as the professor who instructed us both.  I always was a great sportsman—­it is my one passion—­and every autumn we went away somewhere shooting or fishing, sometimes to Scotland, sometimes to Norway, once even to Russia.  I am a good shot, but even in this he learnt to excel me.