He giggled deprecatingly, to show that he did not really mean this.
"Hope so," said Dishy-Washy's brother politely. "I hear you've got a pretty hot crew," he added.
"First chop," said Mr. Poltimore. "You just arrived?"
"Yes; down from town this morning."
"Oh! live there?"
"Oxford man," interpolated Dishy-Washy swiftly. "Sent down," he added in extenuation.
The other two nodded sympathetically, and the conversation proceeded more briskly.
"Are you going to catch those chaps to-night, Dishy?" inquired Mr. Angus earnestly.
"Don't know," replied Dishy-Washy, who as coxswain of the St. Benedict's boat enjoyed a position of authority and esteem in inverse ratio to his inches. "Duncombe's a good enough little oar, but you can't expect a man who weighs nine stone ten to stroke the boat and pull it along too. Of course, if we had anything we could call a Six! As for old Puffin—"