"He's all right. His father doesn't stir a foot out of the Polisher Shool; he'll have had an opportunity to prig something to eat and drink!"
"I don't think he can have backed out?" Segal suggested.
"I don't think it's likely. He may be walking backward to draw attention away from his bowler hat. He doesn't like bowler hats!"
"Or he may be writing a poem in a dark corner, being only young and somewhat foolish. He'll grow out of the first as time goes on."
"Yes, he's amusing enough. But isn't that the illustrious bowler hat?"
"Hello! Here we are! I say, bowler hat, have you seen Philip Massel?"
"He's just coming!" said Philip, appearing at last. "Well, he's come! I'm starving, where's the shop?"
"You've been at a banquet with Sir Timothy and the City Fathers; else why so late?" insisted Harry.
"My mother was fearfully faint," replied Philip awkwardly. "I didn't like to leave her. It's a crime for her to fast, she's so weak nowadays! It's not been so bad for me, with some packets of biscuits at home and a copy of Milton for shool. But let's come along!"
The boys walked up Cambridge Street and turned to the right towards a bridge over the Deadwater Canal. They passed through the door of an eating-house and the fat smells of frying enveloped them unpleasantly; they chose a table in a corner and sat before a lake of spilled gravy and the tin utensils.