"Porteous tells me you are getting on very well."
"He makes things look different,—interesting. He'll tell you a funny tale in the middle of the 5th Prop."
"Jam on the bread."
"Besides—he seems so keen, pater, that he makes one keen."
As to the future Sorrell was very frank with the boy. He discussed it with him,—not as a father—but as a fellow of Kit's own age who had had the benefit of a man's experience.
"It is no use being a smug. When you have found out what you want to do—then go at it like blazes."
"It will come,—I suppose," said Kit. "Mr. Porteous says I'm not to trouble my head—beyond letting him fill it. But—then—you see, pater,—I know you want me to be good at something."
"I want you to be good at the thing which will pull you. Lots of chaps don't get the chance to do the thing they want to do. Just bread-and-butter jobs."
There were occasions when Sorrell went to smoke a pipe with Robert Porteous, and the more he saw of the man the more he liked and respected him. As yet the tutor had not discovered any special aptitude in Christopher, or as he put it "No monkey tricks," but he had discovered virtues that were much more important.
"The boy can't help doing well, my dear chap. He's got grit. He doesn't slink. He is one of those boys who develop—an early sense of responsibility. It's quite quaint in him,—no—not a bit priggish. He realizes what you are doing,—and I believe the ruling thought at the back of his mind,—no—don't let's say 'thought'—let's say feeling—is that he is not going to let you down. You are a great man to him."
"I'm an hotel porter!"
"The time will come when he will think even more of the hotel porter."
"I hope he will."
"Sorrell," said Mr. Porteous with emphasis, "surely—you don't doubt it?"
Sorrell was looking out of the window into the dusky little garden.
