Billy Prothero was a sturdy sort of boy, generously wanting in good
looks. His hair was rough, and his complexion muddy, and he walked
about with his hands in his pockets, long flexible lips protruded in
a whistle, and a rather shapeless nose well up to show he didn't
care. Providence had sought to console him by giving him a keen eye
for the absurdity of other people. He had a suggestive tongue, and
he professed and practised cowardice to the scandal of all his
acquaintances. He was said never to wash behind his ears, but this
report wronged him. There had been a time when he did not do so,
but his mother had won him to a promise, and now that operation was
often the sum of his simple hasty toilet. His desire to associate
himself with Benham was so strong that it triumphed over a defensive
reserve. It enabled him to detect accessible moments, do
inobtrusive friendly services, and above all amuse his quarry. He
not only amused Benham, he stimulated him. They came to do quite a
number of things together. In the language of schoolboy stories
they became "inseparables."

Prothero's first desire, so soon as they were on a footing that
enabled him to formulate desires, was to know exactly what Benham
thought he was up to in crossing a field with a bull in it instead
of going round, and by the time he began to understand that, he had
conceived an affection for him that was to last a lifetime.

"I wasn't going to be bullied by a beast," said Benham.

"Suppose it had been an elephant?" Prothero cried. . . . "A mad
elephant? . . . A pack of wolves?"

Benham was too honest not to see that he was entangled. "Well,