The third-year men seemed to think the correction beneath their dignity, and the duty devolved naturally upon the second-year men.
“I can’t come,” said Avery. “The O.L.G.’s coming out to-morrow.”
“Look here, Mossy, if you say another word about your rotten paper, I won’t buy a copy,” Lonsdale vowed.
Michael offered to go with Lonsdale and at any rate assist as a spectator. He was anxious to compare the behavior of Smithers with the behavior of Appleby in like circumstances. Grainger offered to come if Lonny would promise to fight sixteen rounds without gloves, and in the end he, with Lonsdale, Michael, Cuffe, Sinclair, and three or four others, marched up to Appleby’s rooms.
Lonsdale knocked upon the door, and as he opened it assumed what he probably supposed to be an expression of ferocity, though he was told afterward he had merely looked rather more funny than usual.
“Oh, hullo, Lonsdale,” said Appleby, as the party entered. “Come in and have a smoke. How’s your governor?”
Lonsdale seemed to choke for breath a moment, and then sat down in a chair so deep that for the person once plunged into its recesses an offensive movement must have been extremely difficult.
“Come in, you chaps,” Appleby pursued in hospitable serenity. “I don’t know any of your names, but take pews, take pews. Venner hasn’t sent up the cigars I ordered.”
“We know,” interrupted Lonsdale severely.
“But I’ve some pretty decent weeds here,” continued Appleby, without a tremor of embarrassment. “Who’s for whisky?”