Part 24 (2/2)
The other flushed a little. ”It was really Caesar who suggested it,” he owned.
Sam had never been down that line before, so Christopher pointed out the matters of interest. They found their boat ready at Maidenhead, bestowed their coats in the bow and settled themselves. Christopher insisted on Sam's rowing stroke. Sam thought politeness obliged him to refuse, but he ultimately gave in. He retrieved the little error in manners by handling his oar in a masterly way. ”Stroke shaping well,”
Christopher heard the boatman say as they went off.
The wind on the river was cold enough and, in spite of the bright sun, cut through them. But half an hour's steady pulling brought them into a glow and mood to enjoy themselves. Christopher called for a rest.
Sam looked over his shoulder.
”Tired?”
”No,” responded the other, laughing, ”but we didn't come down just to row 'eyes in boat'; I want to look at the world.”
”Nothing but green fields and trees and cows.”
”I like cows.”
”I don't.”
Nevertheless he desisted from work, and they drifted on. Christopher was bubbling over with a great secret that was to be the crowning episode of the day. It would be fatal to divulge it too early, so he plunged into friendly discussions and they rowed on happy in the physical exertion, the clean, fresh air and the smiling earth.
It was not till after lunch that Christopher decided the great matter must be broached, to allow time to discuss it in full detail. They had changed places and he was stroke now. He pulled with a slower swing but greater power than Sam and for some time bent to his work in silence, thinking over what he was going to say. He took a rapid mental survey of Sam's present life and future, of what it held and more especially of what it did not hold; the limitations, the lack of opportunity, the struggle for existence that left no room for ambitions or hopes. And he, with Caesar's help, was going to change all that, and open the gates of the world wide for him. If the thought were exhilarating, it had also a serious side. He was not afraid, he was too young for that, but he had sense enough to know it was a big thing to uproot a life and plant it in a new spot more congenial to growth.
Mr. Aston's words to him that morning came back with puzzling insistence. ”Remember,” he had said in his kindly way, ”no two people see life through the same gla.s.ses. Don't be surprised if Sam's make you squint.” What did he mean? It was just because he, Christopher, was not sure of Sam's real ambition that he was to be given the choice. He amused himself while cogitating over it, tasting like an epicure the flavour of the good wine to be drunk presently. Sam complained he was a bad stroke, and they changed again. This better suited his plans. He could see the town boy's thin sloping shoulders bend evenly before him. Sam was no athlete in build, but his pa.s.sion for rowing had stood him in good stead and developed muscle and endurance.
”He'll choose something in boats,” thought Christopher, mentally picturing Sam as captain of a great liner and then as an alternative, as an admiral of the Fleet, and so came the crucial point.
”Sam, if you had your choice, what would you be?”
”Dunno.”
”But think. I want to know. A greengrocer like Mr. Gruner? Ho, ho!” he shouted out wholesome laughter.
Sam grinned. He was less ready to laugh. Life had taken toll of that birthright already.
”I hate vegetables. Beastly, dirty things,” he said prosaically. ”No, I wouldn't be a _green_-grocer.”
”Well what? An engineer? A doctor, lawyer, parson?”
”Why not a king now?” scoffed Sam.
”Not enough situations vacant. I mean it, really. What would you be if you were as free to choose as I am?”
”If I were you, you mean.”
”No, not that. If you could choose for yourself as I have.”
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