After a few commonplace remarks, Julian ventured on a question or two as to the purchases which he would immediately require, the hours of lecture and hall, and the thousand-and-one trifles of which a newcomer is necessarily ignorant. Mr Admer seemed to think this a great bore, and answered languidly enough, advising Julian not to be “more fresh” than he could help. It requires very small self-denial to make a person at home by supplying him with a little information; but small as the effort would have been, it was greater than the Reverend N Admer could afford to make, and his answers were so little encouraging that Julian, making ample allowance for the ennuyé condition of the young Fellow, relapsed into silence.
“And what do you think of Saint Werner’s?” asked Mr Admer, taking the initiative, with a yawn.
Julian’s face lighted up. “Think of it! I feel uncommonly proud already of being a Saint Werner’s man.”
“Genius loci, and all that sort of thing, eh?”
The sneering way in which this was said left room for no reply, so Mr Admer continued.
“Ah you’ll soon find all that sort of twaddle wear off.”
“I hope not,” said Julian.
“Of course you intend to be senior classic, or senior wrangler, or something of that sort?”
“I expect simply nothing; but if I were inclined to soar, one might have a still higher ambition than that.”
“Oh, I see; an embryo Newton,—all that sort of thing.”