He
was kind to me, and had me to lunch one Sunday in a villa out at
Barnes--that was a breath of life, to sit in a homelike room and
look at old Punches half the afternoon; and there was another young
man, a master, rather stout and pale, with whom I shared some
little jokes, and who treated me as he might treat a younger
brother; he was pledged, I remember, to give me a cake if I won an
Eton Scholarship, and royally he redeemed his promise. He died of
heart disease a little while after I left the school. I had
promised to write to him from Eton and never did so, and I had a
little pang about that when I heard of his death. And then there
was the handsome loud-voiced maid of my dormitory, Underwood by
name, who was always just and kind, and who, even when she rated
us, as she did at times, had always something human beckoning from
her handsome eye. I can see her now, with her sleeves tucked up,
and her big white muscular arms, washing a refractory little boy
who fought shy of soap and water. I had a wild idea of giving her a
kiss when I went away, and I think she would have liked that.
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