“I have some idea of working on till eight, and having a chop sent in,” said Johnny.  “Besides—­I’ve got somewhere to call, by myself.”

Then Cradell almost cried.  He remained silent for two or three minutes, striving to master his emotion; and at last, when he did speak, had hardly succeeded in doing so.  “Oh, Johnny,” he said, “I know what that means.  You are going to throw me over because you are getting up in the world.  I have always stuck to you, through everything; haven’t I?”

“Don’t make yourself a fool, Caudle.”

“Well; so I have.  And if they had made me private secretary, I should have been just the same to you as ever.  You’d have found no change in me.”

“What a goose you are.  Do you say I’m changed, because I want to dine in the city?”

“It’s all because you don’t want to walk home with me, as we used to do.  I’m not such a goose but what I can see.  But, Johnny—­I suppose I mustn’t call you Johnny, now.”

“Don’t be such a—­con-founded—­” Then Eames got up, and walked about the room.  “Come along,” said he, “I don’t care about staying, and don’t mind where I dine.”  And he bustled away with his hat and gloves, hardly giving Cradell time to catch him before he got out into the streets.  “I tell you what it is, Caudle,” said he, “all that kind of thing is disgusting.”

“But how would you feel,” whimpered Cradell, who had never succeeded in putting himself quite on a par with his friend, even in his own estimation, since that glorious victory at the railway station.  If he could only have thrashed Lupex as Johnny had thrashed Crosbie; then indeed they might have been equal,—­a pair of heroes.  But he had not done so.  He had never told himself that he was a coward, but he considered that circumstances had been specially unkind to him.  “But how would you feel,” he whimpered, “if the friend whom you liked better than anybody else in the world, turned his back upon you?”

“I haven’t turned my back upon you; except that I can’t get you to walk fast enough.  Come along, old fellow, and don’t talk confounded nonsense.  I hate all that kind of thing.  You never ought to suppose that a man will give himself airs, but wait till he does.  I don’t believe I shall remain with old Scuffles above a month or two.  From all that I can hear that’s as much as any one can bear.”

Then Cradell by degrees became happy and cordial, and during the whole walk flattered Eames with all the flattery of which he was master.  And Johnny, though he did profess himself to be averse to “all that kind of thing,” was nevertheless open to flattery.  When Cradell told him that though FitzHoward could not manage the Tartar knight, he might probably do so; he was inclined to believe what Cradell said.  “And as to getting him his shoes,” said Cradell, “I don’t suppose he’d ever think of asking you to do such a thing, unless he was in a very great hurry, or something of that kind.”