Mr. Binney enjoyed this. He became facetious, affected to dig Mrs. Higginbotham in the ribs, and jocularly cried, "Oh! you saucy little skipper!"
Mrs. Higginbotham was scandalised.
"Peter!" she exclaimed, "surely you forget yourself."
"Pooh! Martha," said Mr. Binney, "don't be old-fashioned. That's the way young men go on now-a-days."
"Is it?" said Mrs. Higginbotham, only half reassured. "I don't think I much like it. It isn't respectful. But I'm so pleased to see you back, Peter, that I don't mind how you go on. And you certainly do look younger, somehow—I suppose it is from cutting off your whiskers. But do you know I think it makes you look smaller too."
"Ah!" said Peter, "I used to be sorry I was rather short. I'm not now. It's a distinct score. I've got a great piece of news for you, Martha. I'm going to steer the first Lent boat next term, if all goes well. The first boat captain told me the other day that I was the most useful man they'd got, if I didn't play the fool and kept my head; he said if I steered well in the Lents I should probably steer the first boat in the Mays; and that means, Martha, that next year I shall very likely be cox of the 'Varsity and get my Blue. Think of that, now!"
"Lor!" said Mrs. Higginbotham, "And very nice too, I'm sure. But why are you wearing a tie with the Oxford colours instead of the Cambridge?"
"Oh dear! Martha!" exclaimed Peter with some irritation. "Will you never understand these things? These are the First Trinity colours. Nobody can wear the Cambridge colours unless he's a Blue. And I'm not a Blue yet."
"Aren't you?" said Mrs. Higginbotham. "Well, never mind, I'm sure you will be some day if you do your lessons—I mean your work well, and satisfy the Professors. And now, Peter, there is one little thing that I wish to speak to you about. That time you got into trouble. I was very grieved to hear about that. My poor dear father always used to say——"
"Oh, bother your father, Martha!" exclaimed Peter. "What did he know about life at the 'Varsity? I told you in my letter that nobody at Cambridge thinks anything of a lark like that except the fusty old dons—and who cares for what they think?"