Nigel started off at once for Mr. Carden-Cox's house, and found that gentleman in a fluster of nervous excitement.
"You see, there was no time to lose," he said, buttonholing the young man with agitated fingers. "Another such day is not to be expected. It's an effort to one of my years; but I dare say I shall not be the worse. I shall put off all responsibility on you. Of course you and the girls will come—eh?—Yes, I thought so. Mr. and Mrs. Browning, if they can—well, you'll see nearer the time. We don't start till a quarter to twelve. Must allow some time for preparations. I thought we would take our lunch soon after twelve, before getting to the prettiest part of the river; and then have early afternoon tea, coming down again. Mind, everybody takes wraps. It's warm—marvellous for November; but the river air is apt to be chilly. Of course we shall be in before dark. How is your father to-day? Seen Duncan yet? No, I supposed not. He never hurries himself. I'm asking Duncan, by-the-bye, but of course he'll not come. And the Elveys."
Nigel's face lighted up.
"Yes, I knew you'd like that. Great chums of yours. I don't dislike young Elvey; and Ethel is a sensible sort of a girl. I sent a note early, and promised to send for an answer. You wouldn't mind being my messenger, perhaps?"
Mind it! Nigel was delighted. He went at railway speed down the hill towards Church Square, now and then exchanging a nod and smile with some old acquaintance, rich or poor. Passing the short posts which admitted foot-passengers into the square, he encountered a young man, half a head shorter than himself, slim and compact, clerical in attire, with a soft wide-awake crushed low over the forehead, a thin, hatchet face, and sharp features. Fast as Nigel walked, the other walked faster still.
"Hallo, Nigel!"
"Hallo, Malcolm!"
That was their British greeting after a year's separation. They were great friends none the less; though not from similarity.
"Coming?" asked Nigel.
"Where?"