Alec stood looking out of the open window with a thunderous face.  For several reasons, some of which he hardly understood, he did not want to leave Chellaston; but he had no intention of ruining his brother.  It annoyed him that Robert should seriously propose to retire, and more, that he should let jokes and laughter fall on the heels of such a proposal.  He did not know that there are hours to some men, coming not in the heat of party conflict, but in the quiet of daily life, when martyrdom would be easy, and any sacrifice short of martyrdom is mere play.  And because he did not know this, he did not believe in it, just as the average man does not.  His cogitation, however, was not on such abstruse matters, nor was it long, but its result was not insignificant.

“Put your money into it,” he said, “and fight it out!  Put part of my money into it, if you like, and let us fight it out together.”

Perhaps the sentiment that actuated the suggestion, even as concerned part of his own inheritance, was nothing more than pugilistic; the idea, however, came to Robert Trenholme as entirely a new one.  The proceeds of his father’s successful trade lay temporarily invested, awaiting Alec’s decision, and his own share would probably be ample to tide the college over any such shock to its income as might be feared from the circumstances they had been contemplating, and until public confidence might be laboriously regained.  The plan was not one that would have occurred to his own mind—­first, because the suggestions of his mind were always prudent; secondly, because such a fight was shocking to that part of his nature which was usually uppermost.  It would be far more agreeable to him to turn away from the averted eyes of correct taste than to stand brazenly till he was again tolerated.  Still, this very thing he disliked most might be the thing that he was meant to do, and also there is nothing more contagious than the passion for war.  Alec’s bellicose attitude aroused party spirit in him.  He knew the power of money; he knew the power of the prestige he had; he began to realise that he could do this thing if he chose.

“You are a piece of consummate conceit,” he mocked.  “Do you imagine that with a little money, and a very few personal graces, we two can brow-beat the good judgment of the public?”

“The fun of the fight would be worth the money almost,” observed Alec parenthetically.  Then he jeered:  “Brace up, and put on more style; put your groom in livery; get a page to open your front door; agitate till you get some honorary degrees from American colleges!  And as for me, I’ll send out my bills on parchment paper, with a monogram and a crest.”

“Do you so despise your fellow men?” asked Robert sadly.

CHAPTER VII.