"Oh, of course, we and know that Crawley is perfect in _your_ eyes," sneered Gould.
"That's rot," said Buller elegantly; "but I do know this, that you might have practised anything you know, shooting, riding, anything, all your life, and if Crawley had a week's practice he would beat your head off at it; come, then, I'll bet you what you like."
"No matter, it does not need proof; every fellow with eyes in his head must see it. But that's nothing. If you were ever so much better it would be just as mean to brag about it."
Crawley had no idea that Gould bore him any grudge, and being grateful to him for his invitation, sought to give him those opportunities of intimacy which he had evidently coveted before. But it was Gould now who drew back, somewhat to the other's relief, for he could not bring himself to care much about him.
Well, all this foolish talk of Gould's did have a certain effect: a good many boys lost some faith in their idol, and began to suspect that its feet might be of clay. And then Crawley took to reading very hard that term, for his time for trying to get into Woolwich was approaching, and he was very anxious not to fail; and this made him less sociable, which affected his popularity. It did not interfere with his sports; he was as energetic at football as ever, and took his usual pains to make the boys pay up their subscriptions, for he was secretary and treasurer. But that was not exactly a genial duty, though everybody was glad that somebody else would take the trouble. And for the rest, he was now always working hard or playing hard.
"Hulloa, Edwards!" he said one day about the middle of term, "you have been very lazy about your football lately; you promised to be good at it, you know. It's a pity to give it up."
"But I have not," said Edwards. "I am going in for it again now." And he meant it; for the last penny of the loan had vanished, and he felt the need of excitement and action of some kind.
"That's right, old fellow," said Crawley. "Of course you play for your house against ours in the match."
"Come and have a game this afternoon," said Crawley, turning back after they had parted; for the pallid and careworn face of the other struck him, and he thought very likely a little exercise and bustle was just what he wanted, but that he felt listless, as one does sometimes, when one is glad afterwards if some one else will save us the trouble of making up our minds, and start us.