Nikitin, in his lofty romantic fashion, spoke
of him as though he had been the hero of the Russian army. Trenchard
was, of course, quite unspoiled by this praise and popularity. He
remained for me at least very much the same innocent, clumsy,
pathetic, and frequently irritating figure that he had been at the
beginning. I will honestly confess that I was often heartily tired of
his Glebeshire stories, tired too of a certain childish obstinacy with
which he clung to his generally crude and half-baked opinions.
But then I do not care to be contradicted by people of whom,
intellectually, I have a low estimation; it is one of my most
unfortunate weaknesses. I had no opinion of Trenchard's intellect at
all, and in that I was quite wrong. Semyonov at this time flung
Nikitin, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard and myself into one basket.
We were all "crazy romantics" and there came an occasion, which I have
reason most clearly to remember, when he told us what he thought of
us. We were together, Semyonov, Nikitin, Trenchard and I, after
breakfast, smoking cigarettes, enjoying half an hour's idleness before
setting about our various business.
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