In my college life I had two particular friends whom I think I must have selected because they were so absolutely different from myself.
They were named Bastin and Bickley.

Bastin--Basil was his Christian name--was an uncouth, shock-headed, flat-footed person of large, rugged frame and equally rugged honesty, with a mind almost incredibly simple.
Nothing surprised him because he lacked the faculty of surprise.

He was like that kind of fish which lies at the bottom of the sea and takes every kind of food into its great maw without distinguishing its flavour.

Metaphorically speaking, heavenly manna and decayed cabbage were just the same to Bastin.

He was not fastidious and both were mental pabulum--of a sort--together with whatever lay between these extremes.
Yet he was good, so painfully good that one felt that without exertion to himself he had booked a first-class ticket straight to Heaven; indeed that his guardian angel had tied it round his neck at birth lest he should lose it, already numbered and dated like an identification disc.
I am bound to add that Bastin never went wrong because he never felt the slightest temptation to do so.