What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we could get on without
it. But we can't. However, you'll all find, if you haven't found it out
already, that a time comes in every human friendship when you must go
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is there to your
friend, and wait in fear for his answer. A few moments may do it; and
it may be (most likely will be, as you are English boys) that you will
never do it but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to be
worth the name. You must find what is there, at the very root and bottom
of one another's hearts; and if you are at one there, nothing on earth
can or at least ought to sunder you.
East had remained lying down until Tom finished speaking, as if fearing
to interrupt him; he now sat up at the table, and leant his head on one
hand, taking up a pencil with the other, and working little holes with
it in the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil,
and said, "Thank you very much, old fellow. There's no other boy in
the house would have done it for me but you or Arthur. I can see well
enough," he went on, after a pause, "all the best big fellows look on me
with suspicion; they think I'm a devil-may-care, reckless young scamp.
So I am--eleven hours out of twelve, but not the twelfth. Then all of
our contemporaries worth knowing follow suit, of course: we're very good
friends at games and all that, but not a soul of them but you and
Arthur ever tried to break through the crust, and see whether there was
anything at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won't stand and
they know that.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359