Everard Lucas was already seated. Mr. Lucas was another articled pupil
of the firm; being a remote cousin of the late senior partner, he had
entered on special terms. Although a year older than George he was less
advanced, for whereas George had passed the Intermediate, Mr. Lucas had
not. But in manly beauty, in stylishness, in mature tact, and especially
in persuasive charm, he could beat George.

"Hallo!" Lucas greeted. "How do you feel? Fit?"

"Fit?" said George enthusiastically "I feel so fit I could push in the
side of a house."

"What did I tell you?" said Lucas.

George rubbed his hand all over Lucas's hair, and Lucas thereupon seized
George's other hand and twisted his arm, and a struggle followed. In
this way they would often lovingly salute each other of a morning. Lucas
had infected George with the craze for physical exercises as a remedy
for all ills and indiscretions, including even late nights and excessive
smoking. The competition between them to excel in the quality of fitness
was acute, and sometimes led to strange challenges. After a little
discussion about springing from the toes, Lucas now accused George's
toes of a lack of muscularity, and upon George denying the charge, he
asserted that George could not hang from the mantelpiece by his toes.
They were both men of the world, capable of great heights of dignity,
figures in an important business, aspirants to a supreme
art and profession. They were at that moment in a beautiful
late-eighteenth-century house of a stately and renowned square, and in a
room whose proportions and ornament admittedly might serve as an
exemplar to the student; and not the least lovely feature of the room