"Now see here," said the doctor, "there's no use talking to me now. I can't attend to ye. All of ye come back here in an hour and take the oath, all together mind."
"I merely wished to state, Doctor L——," began the wondering Forster.
"Sir I tell ye I can't attend to ye now. You must come again," and he was gone.
I was at the back of the room, when my friend joined me, very ruminative and serious. "Very odd, all this," he said, "but I suppose when we do come back, it will be all right?"
"Oh yes, he is noted as an odd man," I said.
"I don't at all understand him, but I suppose it is all right. Well come along, my dear friend." I then left him for a while. After the hour's interval I returned. The next thing I saw from the back of the room was my burly friend in the front row of a number of irreverent youngsters of juvenile age, some of whom close by me were saying, "Who's the stout old bloke; what's he doing here?"
"Now," said the Bursar and senior fellow, "take these Testaments on your hands, all o' ye." And then I saw my venerable friend, for so he looked in comparison, with three youths sharing his Testament with them. But he was serious. For here was a most solemn duty before him. "Now repeat after me. Ego," a shout, "Joannes, Carolus," as the case might be "juro solemniter," &c. Forster might have been in church going through a marriage ceremony, so reverently did he repeat the formula. The lads were making a joke of it.
Forster, as I said, was indeed a man of the old fashion of gallantry, making his approaches where he admired sans cérémonie, and advancing boldly to capture the fort. I remember a dinner, with a young lady who had a lovely voice, and who sang after the dinner to the general admiration. Forster had never seen her before, but when she was pressed to sing again and again, and refused positively, I was amazed to see Forster triumphantly passing through the crowded room, the fair one on his arm, he patting one of her small hands which he held in his own! She was flattered immensely and unresisting; the gallant Foster had carried all before him. This was his way, never would he be second fiddle anywhere if he could help it. Not a bad principle for any one if they can only manage it.
I remember one night, when he was in his gallant mood laying his commands on a group of ladies, to sing or do something agreeable, he broke out: "You know I am a despot, and must have my way, I'm such a harbitrary cove." The dames stared at this speech, and I fancy took it literally, for they had not heard the story. This I fancy did not quite please, for he had no notion of its being supposed he considered himself arbitrary; so he repeated and enforced the words in a loud stern voice. (Boswellians will recall the scene where Johnson said "The woman had a bottom of sense." When the ladies began to titter, he looked round sternly saying "Where's the merriment? I repeat the woman is fundamentally sensible." As who should say "now laugh if you dare!") The story referred to was that of the cabman who summoned Forster for giving him a too strictly measured fare, and when defeated, said "it warn't the fare, but he was determined to bring him there for he were such a harbitrary cove." No story about Forster gave such delight to his friends as this; he himself was half flattered, half annoyed.
Forster liked to be with people of high degree—as, perhaps, most of us do. At one time he was infinitely flattered by the attentions of Count Dorsay, who, no doubt, considered him a personage. This odd combination was the cause of great amusement to his friends, who were, of course, on the look out for droll incidents. There was many a story in circulation. One was that Forster, expecting a promised visit from "the Count," received a sudden call from his printers. With all solemnity he impressed the situation on his man. "Now," he said, "you will tell the Count that I have only just gone round to call on Messrs. Spottiswoode, the printers—you will observe, Messrs. Spot-is-wode," added he, articulating the words in his impressive way. The next time Forster met the Count, the former gravely began to explain to him the reason of his absence. "Ah! I know," said the gay Count, "you had just gone round to Ze Spotted Dog—I understand," as though he could make allowance for the ways of literary men. Once Forster had the Count to dinner—a great solemnity. When the fish was "on" the host was troubled to note that the sauce had not yet reached his guest. In an agitated deep sotto voce, he said, "Sauce to the Count." The "aside" was unheard. He repeated it in louder, but more agitated tones, "Sauce to the Count." This, too, was unnoticed; when, louder still, the guests heard, "Sauce for the Flounders of the Count." This gave infinite delight to the friends, and the phrase became almost a proverb. Forster learning to dance in secret, in preparation for some festivity, was another enjoyment, and his appearance on the scene, carefully executing the steps, his hands on the shoulders of a little girl, caused much hilarity.