He rushed across the room and I could see that he was the recipient of a most hilarious greeting. Presently he came back in great spirits.
“I say, we're in luck's way,” he said. “I'd quite forgotten this was the night of the match.”
It then appeared that the universities of Oxford and Cambridge had been playing a football match that afternoon and that on the evening of the encounter it was an ancient custom for these seats of learning to join in an amicable celebration of the event.
“The very thing we want,” said Teddy. “Come on and join these men—old pals of mine; dashed good chaps and regular sportsmen. Come on!”
“But,” I protested, as I let him lead me to these “regular sportsmen,”
“I am neither of Oxford nor Cambridge.”
“Oh, that doesn't matter. Hi!” (this was to call the attention of his friends to my presence). “Let me introduce Mr. Black, of Brasenose; Mr. Brown, of Balliol, Mr. Scarlett, of Magdalen; Mr. White, of Christchurch. This is my honorable and accomplished friend, Mr. Juggins, of Jesus!”
At this there was a roar of welcome and a universal shout of “Good old Juggins!”
“But indeed my friend flatters me!” I exclaimed. “I have not the honor to be the Juggins.”
No use in disclaiming my new name, however. Juggins of Jesus I remained for the rest of that evening, and there was nothing for it but to live up to the character. And I soon found that it was not difficult. All I had to do was to shout whenever Mr. Scarlett or Mr. Black shouted, and wave my napkin in imitation of Mr. White or Mr. Brown. No questions were asked regarding my degree or the lectures I attended, and my perfect familiarity with Jesus College seemed to be taken for granted. I do not wish to seem vainglorious, but I cannot help thinking that I produced a favorable impression on my new friends.