One of the boys, Hall, had his exercise-book with him. They tore a sheet or two out of it, and folded it round the keys, Hurst producing some string. “I’ll fling them in,” said Bywater.
“Make haste, then, or we shall have to wait till the barge has gone by.”
Bywater took a cautious look round, saw nobody, and flung the parcel into the middle of the river. “Rari nantes in gurgite vasto!” ejaculated he.
“Now, you gents, what be you throwing into the river?”
The words came from Hudson, the porter to the Boundaries, who appeared to have sprung up from the ground. In reality, he had been standing on the steps leading to the river, but the boat-house had hidden him from their view. He was a very different man from the cloister porter; was afraid of the college boys, rather than otherwise, and addressed them individually as “sir.” The keeper of the boat-house heard this, and came up the steps.
“If you gentlemen have been throwing anything into the river you know that it’s against the rules.”
“Don’t bother!” returned Hurst, to the keeper.
“But you know it is wrong, gentlemen,” remonstrated the keeper. “What was it you threw in? It made a dreadful splash.”
“Ah! what was it?” coolly answered Hurst. “What should you say to a dead cat? Hudson, have the goodness to mind your business, unless you would like to get reported for interfering with what does not concern you.”
“There’s a quarter to ten!” exclaimed Bywater, as the college clock chimed the three-quarters. “We shall be marked late, every soul of us!”