always chiveying me about--living one year like ambassadors and the
next like paupers? Who are they, any way, and what are they? I've
thought of all that--I've thought of a lot of things. They're so beastly
worldly. That's what I hate most--oh, I've _seen_ it! All they care
about is to make an appearance and to pass for something or other. What
the dickens do they want to pass for? What _do_ they, Mr. Pemberton?"

"You pause for a reply," said Pemberton, treating the question as a joke,
yet wondering too and greatly struck with his mate's intense if imperfect
vision. "I haven't the least idea."

"And what good does it do? Haven't I seen the way people treat them--the
'nice' people, the ones they want to know? They'll take anything from
them--they'll lie down and be trampled on. The nice ones hate that--they
just sicken them. You're the only really nice person we know."

"Are you sure? They don't lie down for me!"

"Well, you shan't lie down for them. You've got to go--that's what
you've got to do," said Morgan.

"And what will become of you?"

"Oh I'm growing up. I shall get off before long. I'll see you later."

"You had better let me finish you," Pemberton urged, lending himself to
the child's strange superiority.

Morgan stopped in their walk, looking up at him. He had to look up much
less than a couple of years before--he had grown, in his loose leanness,
so long and high. "Finish me?" he echoed.

"There are such a lot of jolly things we can do together yet. I want to
turn you out--I want you to do me credit."

Morgan continued to look at him. "To give you credit--do you mean?"

"My dear fellow, you're too clever to live."

"That's just what I'm afraid you think. No, no; it isn't fair--I can't
endure it. We'll separate next week. The sooner it's over the sooner to
sleep."

"If I hear of anything--any other chance--I promise to go," Pemberton
said.

Morgan consented to consider this. "But you'll be honest," he demanded;
"you won't pretend you haven't heard?"

"I'm much more likely to pretend I have."

"But what can you hear of, this way, stuck in a hole with us? You ought
to be on the spot, to go to England--you ought to go to America."

"One would think you were _my_ tutor!" said Pemberton.

Morgan walked on and after a little had begun again: "Well, now that you
know I know and that we look at the facts and keep nothing back--it's
much more comfortable, isn't it?"

"