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.
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