He
never did care for the river, did Montmorency.
"It's all very well for you fellows," he says; "you like it, but I don't.
There's nothing for me to do. Scenery is not in my line, and I don't
smoke. If I see a rat, you won't stop; and if I go to sleep, you get
fooling about with the boat, and slop me overboard. If you ask me, I
call the whole thing bally foolishness."
We were three to one, however, and the motion was carried.
CHAPTER II.
PLANS DISCUSSED. - PLEASURES OF "CAMPING-OUT," ON FINE NIGHTS. - DITTO,
WET NIGHTS. - COMPROMISE DECIDED ON. - MONTMORENCY, FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF.
- FEARS LEST HE IS TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD, FEARS SUBSEQUENTLY DISMISSED
AS GROUNDLESS. - MEETING ADJOURNS.
WE pulled out the maps, and discussed plans.
We arranged to start on the following Saturday from Kingston. Harris and
I would go down in the morning, and take the boat up to Chertsey, and
George, who would not be able to get away from the City till the
afternoon (George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day,
except Saturdays, when they wake him up and put him outside at two),
would meet us there.
Should we "camp out" or sleep at inns?
George and I were for camping out. We said it would be so wild and free,
so patriarchal like.
Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the
cold, sad clouds.
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