So occupied was I in wondering how I could persuade Foster to change his opinion of Ward that I forgot the day was Sunday, and that I had intended to go to morning chapel and write some letters at the Union. It was nearly twelve o'clock when Foster came into my rooms and said he had been waiting for me at Oriel until he was tired of doing nothing. He seemed to be rather angry, but soon cooled down when he saw me hurrying up to get ready, and even proposed that we should give up our walk and just lounge round the Parks. But I did not feel as if lounging would do for me, and I told him that I knew a splendid little inn about six miles off, where we could get luncheon. He did not need much persuasion, and we went down Brasenose lane and the High as if we had never lounged in our lives. But before we got to the turning to Iffley we had begun to walk at a speed which did not altogether prevent conversation.
I think I must have been setting the pace, because I had a great deal to say to Fred, and did not know exactly how to begin. He was the greatest friend I had, and I wanted him to like Ward, but I knew that when once he had made up his mind about people he very seldom changed it. He had liked nearly everybody at Cliborough, but when he disliked anybody there was something rather huge in the way he had nothing to do with them. And he had a habit, which would have annoyed me in any one else, of being nearly always right. It was such a complete change for him to come from Cliborough, where he was easily the most important boy in the school, to Oxford, where he was practically nobody at all, that I wondered how he would like it. So many freshers who have been important at school think they can bring their importance with them, but they make the very greatest mistake. A fresher who thinks a lot of himself, and lets other men know that he does, is not likely to do anything but get in his own way. Foster never had put on any side, but he had been accustomed to manage things at Cliborough, and I asked him how he liked being nobody again, as he had been when he first went to school.
He did not answer me at once, and I had a suspicion that he did not care about the change, but I was wrong.
"I like it," he said at last; "there is no bother and fuss, and I like beginning again and being sworn at when I miss the ball. I want to get my blue most awfully, but I don't suppose I have got the ghost of a chance; I never pass at the right time, and everybody here seems to me to be always off-side."
I assured him that he must have a chance for his blue or he would not have played so often.
"They look more and more sick with me every time," he answered, "and each match I play in I expect to be the last. The only thing which riles me is that you never know what they think about you, and the fellow who writes the Oxford notes for The Globe said last week that the 'Varsity XV. must be badly off if they could not find a better three-quarter than the Cliborough fresher, or some rot of that kind. All the men at Oriel who know about things are either cricket or soccer blues, so I don't hear much about rugger there, though every one is nice enough and wants me to get into the XV."
"Doesn't Adamson ever speak to you?" I asked, for he was captain of the 'Varsity XV.
"Yes, but it is generally to tell me not to do something. He is an 'internatter,' you see, and I don't think he ever forgets it, he seems to me to stick on more side than any one I have ever met. Most of the men are all right, but Adamson is a first-class bounder."
"He swore at me pretty freely in the Freshers' match," I said.
"I heard him," Foster returned, "but although you played abominably then, you are really much better than Sykes of Merton, who has been playing back for the 'Varsity lately. He does the most awful things."