He was just glad to be alive and
alert, glad of his friendly companion, robust and strong. A few
pictures passed before his mind, but he was glad just to let his
eyes wander over the scene, the steep turf ramparts, the close-set
dingles, the spring sunshine falling softly over all, as the sun
passed over and the shadows lengthened. At last a ferret got hung
up, and had to be dug out. Howard looked at his watch, and said
they must go back to tea. Jack protested in vain that there was
plenty of light left. Howard said they were expected back. They
left the keeper to recover the ferret, and went back quickly down
the valley. Jack was in supreme delight.
"Well, that's an honest way of spending time!" he said. "My word,
how I dangle about here; it isn't good for my health. But, by
George, I wish I could shoot like you, Mr. Kennedy, Sir."
"Why this sudden obsequiousness?" said Howard.
"Oh, because I never know what to call you," said Jack. "I can't
call you by your Christian name, and Mr. Kennedy seems absurd. What
do you like?"
"Whatever comes naturally," said Howard.
"Well, I'll call you Howard when we are together," said Jack. "But
mind, not at Beaufort! If I call you anything, it will have to be
Mr. Kennedy. I hate men fraternising with the Dons. The Dons rather
encourage it, because it makes them feel youthful and bucks them
up. The men are just as bad about Christian names. Gratters on
getting your Christian name, you know! It's like a girls' school.
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