Pemberton indeed quickly found himself rejoicing that
school was out of the question: in any million of boys it was probably
good for all but one, and Morgan was that millionth. It would have made
him comparative and superior--it might have made him really require
kicking. Pemberton would try to be school himself--a bigger seminary
than five hundred grazing donkeys, so that, winning no prizes, the boy
would remain unconscious and irresponsible and amusing--amusing, because,
though life was already intense in his childish nature, freshness still
made there a strong draught for jokes. It turned out that even in the
still air of Morgan's various disabilities jokes flourished greatly. He
was a pale lean acute undeveloped little cosmopolite, who liked
intellectual gymnastics and who also, as regards the behaviour of
mankind, had noticed more things than you might suppose, but who
nevertheless had his proper playroom of superstitions, where he smashed a
dozen toys a day.
CHAPTER III
At Nice once, toward evening, as the pair rested in the open air after a
walk, and looked over the sea at the pink western lights, he said
suddenly to his comrade: "Do you like it, you know--being with us all in
this intimate way?"
"My dear fellow, why should I stay if I didn't?"
"How do I know you'll stay? I'm almost sure you won't, very long.
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