“Whereas you could always find time to remember the lonely boy left when all his companions were gone on their holidays—­left to his books and the dreary desolation of the empty schoolhouse, and echoing cloisters—­”

“Pooh!” exclaimed Sir Richard, redder than ever.  “Bosh!”

“Do you think I can ever forget the glorious day when you drove over in your coach and four, and carried me off in triumph, and how we raced the white-hatted fellow in the tilbury—?”

“And beat him!” added Sir Richard.

“Took off his near wheel on the turn,” said I.

“The fool’s own fault,” said Sir Richard.

“And left him in the ditch, cursing us!” said I.

“Egad, yes, Peter!  Oh, but those were fine horses and though I say it, no better team in the south country.  You’ll remember the ‘off wheeler’ broke his leg shortly after and had to be shot, poor devil.”

“And later, at Oxford,” I began.

“What now, Peter?” said Sir Richard, frowning darkly.

“Do you remember the bronze vase that used to stand on the mantelpiece in my study?”

“Bronze vase?” repeated Sir Richard, intent upon his whip again.

“I used to find bank-notes in it after you had visited me, and when I hid the vase they turned up just the same in most unexpected places.”

“Young fellow—­must have money—­necessary—­now and then,” muttered Sir Richard.

At this juncture, with a discreet knock, the butler appeared to announce that Sir Richard’s horse was waiting.  Hereupon the baronet, somewhat hastily, caught up his hat and gloves, and I followed him out of the house and down the steps.

Sir Richard drew on his gloves, thrust his toe into the stirrup, and then turned to look at me over his arm.

“Peter,” said he.

“Sir Richard?” said I.

“Regarding your walking tour—­”

“Yes?”

“I think it’s all damned tomfoolery!” said Sir Richard.  After saying which he swung himself into the saddle with a lightness and ease that many younger might have envied.

“I’m sorry for that, sir, because my mind is set upon it.”

“With ten guineas in your pocket!”

“That, with due economy, should be ample until I can find some means to earn more.”

“A fiddlestick, sir—­an accursed fiddlestick!” snorted Sir Richard.  “How is a boy, an unsophisticated, hot-headed young fool of a boy to earn his own living?”

“Others have done it,” I began.

“Pish!” said the baronet.

“And been the better for it in the end.”

“Tush!” said the baronet.

“And I have a great desire to see the world from the viewpoint of the multitude.”

“Bah!” said the baronet, so forcibly that his mare started; “this comes of your damnable Revolutionary tendencies.  Let me tell you, Want is a hard master, and the world a bad place for one who is moneyless and without friends.”