'The merry brown Eyres come leaping,'
as Kingsley has it. What a pity they haven't asked me!"
"You're going, Prescott, I suppose?" asked Kinchenton. "The Eyres are friends of yours--you're going to their fête?"
"I! no, Padre," was the reply; "I'm not going."
"Oh, he's very bad!" said Pringle, in a whisper, "He's got it awfully, but he'll get better."
'Now he 0as turned himself wholly to love and follows a damsel,
Caring no more for honour, or glory, or Pallas Athené.'
Kingsley again--hem!"
"I wonder, Mr. Pringle," said Mr. Dibb, "that you do not attempt to form some more permanent style of reading than the mere poetry, scraps of which you are always quoting. For my own part, I consider poetry the flimsiest kind of writing extant."
"I'm surprised at that, now," said Pringle placidly. "I should have thought that you would have been a great appreciator of the gloomy and Byronic verse. To understand that properly, you must have lost all digestive power; and you know, Mr. Dibb, that your liver is horribly out of order."
A general laugh followed this remark, in which even Mr. Kinchenton joined, and at which Mr. Dibb looked more savage than ever. In the midst of it the clock struck two, and at the last sound Mr. Crump closed his blotting-book, put on his hat, and vanished, saying "G-good" as he passed through the door; two minutes afterwards, fragments of the word "d-day" were heard reverberating in the passage. Simultaneously Mr. Boppy struck work and went to look after his dog, Mr. Dibb started off without a word, and Mr. Prescott took off his coat to wash his hands previous to departure. When he emerged from the washing cupboard, he found Pringle waiting for him: both the young men shook hands with their chief, sent their loves to Mrs. Kinchenton and the boy, and turned out into the Strand.