Volume I Part 45 (1/2)
”The chaps seem rather sick with you,” observed Alan, as they strolled arm-in-arm across the school-ground not yet populous with games.
”Well, they are such a set of sheep,” Michael urged in justification of himself.
”I thought you rather liked them.”
”I did at first. I do still in a way. I do when nothing matters; but that horrible line in the paper did matter most awfully, and I couldn't stick their bleating. You see, you're different. You just say nothing.
That's all right. But these fools tried to say something and couldn't. I always did hate people who _tried_ very obviously. That's why I like you. You're so casual and you always seem to fit.”
”I don't talk, because I know if I opened my mouth I should make an a.s.s of myself,” said Alan.
”There you are, that's what I say. That's why it's possible to talk to you. You see I'm a bit mad.”
”Shut up, you a.s.s,” commanded Alan, smiling.
”Oh, not very mad. And I'm not complaining. But I _am_ a little bit mad.
I always have been.”
”Why? You haven't got a clot on your brain, have you?”
”Oh, Great Scott, no! It's purely mental, my madness.”
”Well, I think you're talking tosh,” said Alan firmly. ”If you go on thinking you're mad, you will be mad, and then you'll be sorry. So shut up trying to horrify me, because if you really were mad I should bar you,” he added coolly.
”All right,” said Michael, a little subdued, as he always was, by Alan's tranquil snubs. ”All right. I'm not mad, but I'm excitable.”
”Well, you shouldn't be,” said Alan.
”I can't help my character, can I?” Michael demanded.
”You're not a girl,” Alan pointed out.
”Men have very strong emotions often,” Michael argued.
”They may have them, but they don't show them. Just lately you've been holding forth about the rotten way in which everybody gets hysterical over this war. And now you're getting hysterical over yourself, which is much worse.”
”d.a.m.n you, Alan, if I didn't like you so much I shouldn't listen to you,” said Michael, fiercely pausing.
”Well, if I didn't like you, I shouldn't talk,” answered Alan simply.
As they walked on again in silence for a while, Michael continually tried to get a perspective view of his friend, puzzling over his self-a.s.surance, which was never offensive, and wondering how a person so much less clever than himself could possibly make him feel so humble.
Alan was good-looking and well-dressed; he was essentially debonair; he was certainly in appearance the most attractive boy in the school. It always gave Michael the most acute thrill of admiration to see Alan swinging himself along so lithe and so graceful. It made him want to go up and pat Alan's shoulder and say, ”You fine and lovely creature, go on walking for ever.” But mere good looks were not enough to explain the influence which Alan wielded, an influence which had steadily increased during the period of their greatest devotion to each other, and had never really ceased during the period of their comparative estrangement.
Yet, if Michael looked back on their joint behaviour, it had always been he who apparently led and Alan who followed.
”Do you know, old chap,” said Michael suddenly, ”you're a great responsibility to me.”
”Thanks very much and all that,” Alan answered, with a mocking bow.
”Have you ever imagined yourself the owner of some frightfully famous statue?” Michael went on earnestly.