It was "up to"
Kennedy, as they say in America, to start in and make something
presentable and useful out of these unpromising materials.
What annoyed him more than anything else was the knowledge that if
only Fenn chose to do the square thing and help him in his work, the
combination would be irresistible. It was impossible to make any
leeway to speak of by himself. If Fenn would only forget his
grievances and join forces with him, they could electrify the house.
Fenn, however, showed no inclination to do anything of the kind. He
and Kennedy never spoke to one another now except when it was
absolutely unavoidable, and then they behaved with that painful
politeness in which the public schoolman always wraps himself as in a
garment when dealing with a friend with whom he has quarrelled.
On the Walton episode Fenn had made no comment, though it is probable
that he thought a good deal.
It was while matters were in this strained condition that Fenn
received a letter from his elder brother. This brother had been at
Eckleton in his time--School House--and had left five years before to
go to Cambridge. Cambridge had not taught him a great deal, possibly
because he did not meet the well-meant efforts of his tutor half-way.
The net result of his three years at King's was--_imprimis_, a
cricket blue, including a rather lucky eighty-three at Lord's;
secondly, a very poor degree; thirdly and lastly, a taste for
literature and the drama--he had been a prominent member of the
Footlights Club.
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