conscious of it. His generosity to his occasional companions was
princely, but was exercised something too much in the manner of a prince;
and, notwithstanding his contempt for baseness, he would overlook that
more easily than an offence to his pride, which demanded an utter
servility when it had once been rendered susceptible. If Richard had his
followers he had also his feuds. The Papworths were as subservient as
Ripton, but young Ralph Morton, the nephew of Mr. Morton, and a match for
Richard in numerous promising qualities, comprising the noble science of
fisticuffs, this youth spoke his mind too openly,
and moreover would not be snubbed. There was no middle course for
Richard's comrades between high friendship or absolute slavery. He was
deficient in those cosmopolite habits and feelings which enable boys and
men to hold together without caring much for each other; and, like every
insulated mortal, he attributed the deficiency, of which he was quite
aware, to the fact of his possessing a superior nature. Young Ralph was
a lively talker: therefore, argued Richard's vanity, he had no intellect.
He was affable: therefore he was frivolous. The women liked him:
therefore he was a butterfly. In fine, young Ralph was popular, and our
superb prince, denied the privilege of despising, ended by detesting him.

Early in the days of their contention for leadership, Richard saw the
absurdity of affecting to scorn his rival. Ralph was an Eton boy, and
hence, being robust, a swimmer and a cricketer. A swimmer and a
cricketer is nowhere to be scorned in youth's republic. Finding that
manoeuvre would not do, Richard was prompted once or twice to entrench
himself behind his greater wealth and his position; but he soon abandoned
that also, partly because his chilliness to ridicule told him he was
exposing himself, and chiefly that his heart was too chivalrous. And so
he was dragged into the lists by Ralph, and experienced the luck of
champions. For cricket, and for diving, Ralph bore away the belt: