“I got here at mid-day yesterday. How are you getting on?”
“Oh, very well, sir.”
“Been in any rows?”
“No, sir.”
“And Todhetley? How is he getting on?”
I should have said very well to this; it would never have done to say very ill, but Tod and Bill Whitney interrupted the answer. They looked just as much surprised as I had been. After talking a bit, Mr. Brandon left, saying he should expect us all three at the Mitre in the evening when dinner in Hall was over.
“What the deuce brings him at Oxford?” cried Tod.
Whitney laughed. “I’ll lay a crown he has come to look after Johnny and his morals.”
“After the lot of us,” added Tod, pushing his books about. “Look here, you two. I’m not obliged to go bothering to that Mitre in the evening, and I shan’t. You’ll be enough without me.”
“It won’t do, Tod,” I said. “He expects you.”