"I have never seen such a man as old Dennison," I heard Lambert telling some one in the common-room; "he looked like a piece of marble, and when I went in and wanted to bolt he treated me as if I was an office-boy, and said that as he believed I was a particular friend of his son's it would do me good to stay. The worst of it was that Dennison wasn't very well, and was having a pick-me-up with his brekker. He wasn't in bed until four this morning, so it's no wonder he didn't look very fit."
On the following afternoon Dennison left Oxford; he was not sent down by the dons, but had to go for the simple reason that his father said he would not let him stay any longer. His friends took him down to the station, and there was a procession of cabs and a noise, but I am sure that there was a feeling of relief in the college when he had gone. Jack and I told each other that we were sorry that his end had come so suddenly, although if any one had asked me what I meant, I am sure that I could not have given any explanation. It is not very hard to guess what would have happened to him if his father had not acted as he did, and if you have to leave Oxford abruptly I should think the best way is to be hurried off by your people; it must save so many explanations when you get home.
What happened to Dennison I cannot say; somebody said that he was going round the world or on to the Stock Exchange, but Lambert denied both these reports, and declared that he had reformed so violently that he had become a teetotaler and intended to wear a blue riband in his button-hole. I doubted the blue riband part of the story, and if Dennison ever wore one I think it would only be on Boat-race day, for it takes a tremendous lot of courage to wear a badge of any kind.
After Dennison had disappeared, Jack and I saw The Bradder nearly every day. His keenness on the college increased instead of wearing off with time, and he seemed to be exactly the right kind of man to be a don. His energy was really terrific, and I received more goads than I could endure conveniently, so I passed some of them on to Jack and chose those which I liked the least, not, I am afraid, the ones which Jack might be inclined to receive with patience.
The Bradder persuaded me to join both a Shakespearian and a Browning Society, and as I could not plunge into such things by myself I dragged Jack with me. The Shakespearian Society was pleasant enough, but after two meetings of the Browningites Jack said flatly that he would not go again. Some of the Browning men objected to the windows being opened, and it is very difficult to keep awake in a stuffy room when you have been taking hard exercise in the afternoon. Jack, at any rate, snored so loudly at the second meeting that he shocked the President, and when he woke up he interrupted a discussion by giving a very fluent lecture on the advantages of ventilation. I expect that he would have been turned out of the society if he had not resigned, and I ought not to have dragged him into it, for he was so violently bored by the whole thing that he declared he must have a little pleasure to make him forget all about it.
"Something in the open air," he said to me, when he came to my rooms on the morning after he had snored, and he looked at a volume of Stubbs' Constitutional History as if he was very tired of it. I was also feeling rather dull, for I had already got through a fortnight of my gating, and to be kept in college after nine o'clock night after night is not very exciting.
"A little change is what we want," Jack went on, as I said nothing.
"I can't do much," I answered; "I'm gated and you have got to row."
"I've got a day off to-morrow; the stroke of my boat has to go to town and bow's ill."
"Why not have a day's hunting?" I asked.