Von Graussman suddenly sat up, and remarked in a disconnected and peevish way, ‘Hoch der Kaiser,’ after which patriotic effort he mechanically reached for the brandy-bottle on the table near at hand.
As he removed the stopper with a shaky hand, his eye suddenly lighted on Fatty, who was gazing dreamily at the ceiling. A sudden crack followed, as the decanter caught the unfortunate Henry on the lower jaw, and spread its contents down his waistcoat. Fatty rose with a yell which would have done credit to a wild Indian, and, picking up the poker, made for the German who appeared to be quite unconscious of what he had done.
As he had propped himself against the fender and was softly crooning the ‘Wacht am Rhein,’ even Fatty saw that violent retaliation was out of the question, and having emptied a syphon down von Graussman’s back, in order, as he said, to wake him up, he retired to change his suit. The silence which followed his disappearance was broken by Cobson remarking that it was ‘time to get old Grausser to bed.’
‘Right oh!’ said Freddy, who is always ready for an emergency, ‘just you keep a watchful eye upon him while I search for his song-book.’ It is well known to all members of Cecil’s, that the only way to get von Graussman to bed is to let him sing a song. After he has polished off a German students’ drinking chorus, a child of three could manage him with ease.
Unfortunately, as we raised the fuddled foreigner to his feet, Farmborough, who puts the weight for the ’Varsity, and was practising in the Quad, put a clod of earth through our window. Any little trifle like this is enough to disconcert von Graussman, who immediately made a clear sweep of the ornaments on the mantelpiece, and threw them in one clattering cloud on to Farmborough’s head. The immaculate de Beresford, who was crossing the Quad, received a bowl of chrysanthemums over his new winter waistcoat, while the Junior Porter, who had just emerged from the Dean’s staircase, was taken somewhere amidships by a carriage clock.
At the first signs of this fresh disturbance, Accrington had hastily sported his oak, but the hoarse curses of von Graussman soon drew the offended parties to the right door, on which they continued to thump with ever-increasing vigour.
The application of a syphon to the letter-slit proved unavailing, and as Cobson had to be back in his digs at eleven, it was imperative to make a sally. The German, who had seated himself in the coal-scuttle, was past help, so we tied him to his throne with a towel, and removed all possible missiles from within his reach. Having taken these precautions, we armed ourselves with our host’s last two syphons and some rotten oranges which we found in the coal bunker, and prepared for a sortie.
‘They seem to have left off that d——d row,’ said Freddy, ‘but they’re probably waiting for us on the landing, so throw back the portal, and we’ll rout the foe.’
As the door swung back we saw a dim figure on the landing. Reggie took careful aim and caught it in the face with an elderly orange, Freddy bowled a chunk of coal at its feet, while Cobson got in a bull’s-eye with a syphon. The sallying party then retired in good order.
‘I say, Martha, who was that?’ queried Freddy as we closed the door.