I sometimes thought Smith was unreasonable to foster his instinctive dislike as he did.
"Jack," said I one night as he was "paying a call" to my bedside--"Jack, I'm half beginning to think Hawkesbury isn't so bad a fellow after all." "Why ?" demanded Smith.
"Oh, I don't know.

He's done me one or two good turns lately." "What sort ?" "Well, he helped me in the Latin the other day, of his own accord, and--" "Go on," said Smith, impatiently.
"And he gave me a knife to-day.

You know I lost mine, and he said he'd got two." Smith grunted.
"I'd like to catch him doing a good turn to me, that's all," said he.
"_I'd_ cure him of that!" I didn't like to hear Smith talk like this.

For one thing, it sounded as if he must be a great deal less foolish than I was, which nobody likes to admit; and for another thing, it seemed wrong and unreasonable, unless for a very good cause, to persist in believing nothing good about anybody else.
So I changed the subject.
"I say," said I, "what are you going to do these holidays ?" "Stay here," said he.

"Are you going home ?" "What!" I exclaimed.