With a roar the company once more sprang to its feet and, assisted by bells, rattles, whistles, a tray, a phonograph which played "You Made Me Love You," combs and mouth-organs, sang in various keys, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."
Bindle was at that moment the most popular man in Oxford. He was one of the greatest successes that Bungem's had ever known. He was hoisted on brawny shoulders and borne in triumph round the room. In his hand he held a finger-bowl full of champagne, the contents of which slopped over the heads and persons of his bearers at every step.
"If only 'Earty could see me now," he murmured happily. "These chaps 'ud make a man of 'Earty 'fore 'e knew it. Leggo my leg!" he yelled suddenly, as one enthusiast seized his right leg and strove to divert the procession from its course. "You funny 'Uggins, you! Think I'm made o' rubber? Leggo!"
Too excited for mere words to penetrate to his brain, the youth continued to pull, and Bindle poured the rest of the champagne over his upturned face. With a yelp the youth released Bindle's leg.
In the excitement that followed Bindle's speech Graves saw his opportunity. Guggers' eye was momentarily off him and he slipped towards the door unnoticed. He had almost reached safety when Bindle, who was the first to observe the manoeuvre, uttered a yell.
"Stop 'im! stop 'im! 'Ere, let me down," he shouted, and by pounding on the head of one of his bearers with the finger-bowl and with a kick that found the stomach of another, he disengaged himself.
Bindle's cry had attracted general attention to Graves, but too late to stop him. With a bound he reached the door and tore down the stairs.
"After him, you chaps," cried Guggers, and with yells and cries ranging from "Tally-ho!" to the "Bushmen's war-cry" the whole company streamed out of Bungem's and tore down "the High" in hot pursuit.
That night those who were late out beheld the strange sight of a white-faced man in evening-dress running apparently for his life, pursued by a pack of some two hundred other men similarly garbed and uttering the most horrible shouts and threats. Windows were thrown up and heads thrust out, and all wondered what could be the meaning of what the oldest, and consequently longest-suffering, townsman subsequently described as defying even his recollection.
Late that night the porter at St. Joseph's was aroused by a furious ringing of the bell, accompanied by a tremendous pounding at the door. On the doorstep he found, to his astonishment, the dishevelled figure of Graves, sobbing for breath and sanctuary, and with terror in his eyes. In the distance he heard a terrible outcry, which next morning he was told was the Australian Bushmen's war-cry.