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Updated: May 16, 2025
He had never found life quite so hard before; only Morgan's unshatterable optimism, Ferrer's volcanic energy, and his own friendship for Morcombe made things bearable at all. And yet he had all the things he had once wanted. Now Betteridge had left, he was indisputably the big man in the House. Rudd was a broken reed.
There was a general air of unrest. Gordon tried Sinister Street; some of the episodes in Lepard Street were more in harmony with his feelings, but there was in Compton Mackenzie's prose a Keats-like perfection of phrase which seemed almost as much out of place as Adonais. As a last resort he began to talk to the two boys nearest him, Bray and Morcombe.
He knew that his friendship for Morcombe would lead to nothing: very few school friendships last more than a year or so after one or other has left. He thought of Byron's line: "And friendships were formed too romantic to last." It was too true, he had yet to find his real ideal. He was about to begin the serious battle of life. He was standing on the threshold.
"Well, Caruthers, what do you think of that lot?" said Collins, as they swaggered back again to the studies. "Oh, not much; that fellow second from the left was not bad. What's his name, oh yes, Morcombe. Believe me, he is some stuff." "Oh, I thought him rather a washed-out specimen, but, I say, that fat fellow looks rather a sport. You know, the man like a dormouse." "Oh yes, that podgy lad.
That's why I admire Sulla so much. At the very height of his power he laid it down, and went into a glorious retirement. His is the most dramatic exit in history. I should like the House to do that. We have taken on too big a thing. We have got to give in sooner or later." "Perhaps so," said Morcombe; "and I suppose 'the Bull' thinks you are thoroughly conceited and proud."
He began to feel at home and lazy and comfortable, as if he had been there before. An orderly entered with envelopes in his hand. "Lieutenant Frazer?" he called, and looked round inquiringly. There was no reply, and he turned to the next. "Captain Saunders?" Still no reply. "Lieutenant Morcombe?" Still no reply. "Lieutenant Morcombe," he called again.
With all these men falling, and no advance being made from day to day." "Yes," said Morcombe; "I agree with the 'much good, but much less good than ill' philosophy." Gordon was surprised out of himself. "I shouldn't have thought you had read the Shropshire Lad." "We are not all Philistines, you know." Thus began a friendship entirely different from any Gordon had known before.
You can go in the garden again, or sit with Mrs. Morcombe in her room. She will look you out some picture books from the library. I am afraid there is nothing very suited to your reading, but we will soon put all that right. Your grandfather and I want to have another quiet chat together." "Now I want your advice," he said when they were both comfortably seated in the study.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" said Gordon. "Oh, nothing." Gordon looked fierce, and returned once more to the history of Michael Fane. Two nights later Gordon came into his study to find Morcombe sitting with Foster, preparing some con. "Hope you don't mind me bringing this lad in," said Foster, "I am in great difficulties with some con."
He tried to fling himself into the light-hearted atmosphere of rejoicing in which the whole House was revelling, but he found it impossible. His laughter was forced; yet his friends noticed no change in him; he was to them just as he had always been. Even Morcombe, who was to him more than other friends, had failed to understand.
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