'He wants to know if you will run down for a few days and unveil a statue which they have just put up to Lord Hemel of Hempstead.'
'Another old schoolfellow. We called him Fatty.'
'There's a postscript over the page. He says he still has a dozen of the '87 port.'
The bishop pursed his lips.
'These earthly considerations do not weigh with me so much as old Catsmeat—as the Reverend Trevor Entwhistle seems to suppose. However, one must not neglect the call of the dear old school. We will certainly go.'
'We?'
'I shall require your company. I think you will like Harchester, Mulliner. A noble pile, founded by the seventh Henry.'
'I know it well. A young brother of mine is there.'
'Indeed? Dear me,' mused the bishop, 'it must be twenty years and more since I last visited Harchester. I shall enjoy seeing the old, familiar scenes once again. After all, Mulliner, to whatever eminence we may soar, howsoever great may be the prizes which life has bestowed upon us, we never wholly lose our sentiment for the dear old school. It is our Alma Mater, Mulliner, the gentle mother that has set our hesitating footsteps on the—'
'Absolutely,' said Augustine.