“All right,” cried the other. “There are eight of us here at breakfast;” and disappearing from the window, he speedily descended to the court, followed by a number of others, who gravely saluted me with a deep bow, and solemnly welcomed me within the classic precincts of old Trinity.
“Domine—what's his name?” said the young gentleman called Burton.
“Cregan, sir,” replied I, already flattered by the attentions I was receiving,—“Con Cregan, sir.”
“Well, Domine Cregan, come along with us, and never put faith in a junior sophister. You know what a junior sophister is, I trust?”
“No, sir.”
“Tell him, Ward.”
“A junior sophister, Mr. Cregan, is one who, being in 'Locke' all day, is very often locked out all night, and who observes the two rubrics of the statute 'de vigilantibus et lucentibus,' by extinguishing both lamps and watchmen.”
“Confound your pedantry!” broke in Burton; “a junior soph, is a man in his ninth examination.”
“The terror of the porters,” cried one.
“The Dean's milch cow,” added another.