"Well then, they're mighty poor plans," was the response.
It seemed to Bob as though a cloud of gloom hung over this old university town.
His luggage having been taken to the hotel, he found his way into the dining-room, and the waiter, whom he had known for years, came up to him and spoke familiarly.
"Bad times, Mr. Nancarrow," he said. "Oxford won't be a university town now, it'll be a barracks town. I suppose you have come up for training. Yes, hosts of the young gentlemen have. We shall send out one of the finest Companies in the British Army, from Oxford. It's grand, sir, it's grand, the way you young gentlemen come up at this time. After all, your learning is no good at a time like this; it do not save the country, sir. We want fighting chaps."
Bob sat down at a little table and picked up the menu.
"Yes, sir," went on the waiter. "It is splendid, the way the young gentlemen are coming up, and I say a man isn't a man if he stays at home at a time like this. I wish I was ten years younger, I'd be off like a bird."
"It's the same everywhere," reflected Bob, "wherever I go I seem to have poisoned arrows shot at me. I don't care what this fellow thinks about me, and yet I am ashamed to tell him that I have not come up for training, at all."
"By the way," he said to the waiter in order to stop his garrulous talk, which was becoming painful to him, "will you ring up Dr. Renthall, and ask him if he can see me in about an hour's time?"
A little later Bob was out in the streets again, on his way to Dr. Renthall's house. It was a relief to him to feel that here, at least, was one man who would understand his position. After the experiences of the last two or three weeks the Professor's study would be indeed a haven of rest.
Bob was not kept waiting at the door. The Professor's old serving-man knew him well, and showed him into the study without any delay whatever.