Craig laughed.
“She might—she might!” he echoed. “My good fellow age has nothing to do with it! Men of seventy and eighty are young and frisky and marry the most charming women! I certainly feel myself to be a bit in the ‘sere and yellow’—especially tonight,” here he rose from his chair and stretched himself, yawning as he did so, “but not so much so that I wouldn’t have risked taking care of Sylvia if the better man hadn’t turned up in time—”
“I wonder if he is the better man!” interrupted Maynard, suddenly. “He’s a worthy young fellow enough—”
“And I’m an unworthy old fellow!” responded the Philosopher quietly. “Stop it at that! Talk no more about it! You get off to bed—you’ve had a trying day. And to-morrow we’ll take a run together to Oxford and look after your publisher and your proofs. Push everything else aside for the present—”
“Oxford?” exclaimed Maynard, wonderingly. “Am I to go to Oxford?”
“Of course you are!” and the Philosopher bent his brows commandingly. “You’re wanted there to attend to business. And this is your opportunity while your daughter is away—you don’t need to stay here in her absence. Besides, business is business. You can share my rooms and welcome. You want a change.”
“Oxford!” repeated the old scholar, dreamily. “It is many years since I was there! I shall like to see it again!”
“Of course you will!” responded Craig. “Who doesn’t like to see Oxford!—the abode of Age and Youth pleasantly combined! The age part of it is dry as dust, the youth raw as green cucumbers—but they make an amusing mixture. The bones of classic authors rattle in the air of the old University town—and the rampant flesh and blood of the non-classic ‘rising generation’ make uncouth noises as of vampires who have sucked out the strength of the dead. Yes!—Oxford is full of suggestiveness—you will enjoy it!”
The old doctor smiled.
“I believe it’s all your good-natured idea to prevent my feeling lonely!” he said. “But I’ll go with you if you like—”