splendid; but fortunately they never could get them—fortunately, I mean, for Pemberton, who reflected always that if they had got them there would have been still less for educational expenses. What Morgan said at last was said suddenly, irrelevantly, when the moment came, in the middle of a lesson, and consisted of the apparently unfeeling words: "You ought to filer, you know—you really ought."
Pemberton stared. He had learnt enough French slang from Morgan to know that to filer meant to go away. "Ah, my dear fellow, don't turn me off!"
Morgan pulled a Greek lexicon toward him (he used a Greek-German), to look out a word, instead of asking it of Pemberton. "You can't go on like this, you know."
"Like what, my boy?"
"You know they don't pay you up," said Morgan, blushing and turning his leaves.
"Don't pay me?" Pemberton stared again and feigned amazement. "What on earth put that into your head?"
"It has been there a long time," the boy replied, continuing his search.
Pemberton was silent, then he went on: "I say, what are you hunting for? They pay me beautifully."
"I'm hunting for the Greek for transparent fiction," Morgan dropped.
"Find that rather for gross impertinence, and disabuse your mind. What do I want of money?"
"Oh, that's another question!"
Pemberton hesitated—he was drawn in different ways. The severely correct thing would have been to tell the boy that such a matter was none of his business and bid him go on with his lines. But they were really too intimate for that; it was not the way he was in the habit of treating him; there had been no reason it should be.