“Juggins won the match for us,” shouted Mr. White. “Good old Juggins!”
“I did, indeed. Vive la football! I won it by an innings and a goal!” I cried, adopting what I knew of their athletic terms.
“Juggins will make us a speech! Good old Juggins!” shouted Mr. Black.
“Fellow-students!” I replied, rising promptly at this invitation, “my exploits already seem known to you, better even than to myself. How I hit the wicket, kick the goal, bowl the hurdle, and swing the oar, what need to relate? Good old Juggins, indeed! I give you this health—to my venerable college of Jesus, to the beloved colleges of you all, to my respectable and promising friend, Lumme, to the goal-post of Oxford, to love, to wine, to the Prince of Wales!”
Never was a speech delivered with more fervor or received with greater applause. After that I do not think they would have parted with me to save themselves from prison. And indeed it very nearly came to that alternative more than once in the course of the evening.
