‘It looked to me like Farmborough,’ I replied.
‘But,’ said the Pilot, who always raises objections, ‘this was in evening dress, and Farmborough hasn’t been out.’
Just then some person, or persons, unknown, struck a staggering blow on the oak outside. This noise aroused von Graussman, who moved into a commanding position opposite the door, unavoidably taking the coal-scuttle with him. The next thing was the voice of the Dean demanding entrance, which caused the warlike spirit of the company to evaporate instantaneously. Accrington, with the skill born of long practice, concealed himself beneath the sofa, Reggie and I shared his bed, the Pilot, who had taken but a small part in the proceedings, sought the seclusion of the coal-bunker, while Freddy and Cobson stowed themselves behind the piano. Our efforts to induce von Graussman to hide were futile; he still retained his position, and his loudly-expressed contempt for all in authority was, I am told, audible three staircases off.
The jingling of keys outside announced to the expectant but invisible audience, that the Junior Porter was opening the oak, and the Dean made an imposing entrance to the strains of the ‘Lustige Brüder,’ as rendered, somewhat indistinctly, by the Graf von Graussman.
As the Dean entered, von Graussman rose with some difficulty, and after making a low obeisance—accompanied by the coal-scuttle—addressed the Rev. Fanny in a short but impressive speech which commenced with ‘Mein geliebte und hochwohlgeborn Herr Professor Doktor,’ and ended, after indistinct rumblings, with the words, ‘damnable inshult,’ ‘Faderland’ and ‘Timeforbed.’
After this elocutionary effort was finished, he announced in a feeble voice, that he ‘wongohometel morring,’ and then fell heavily into the fender. The Dean (who has not used the letter R since childhood) remarked nervously, ‘This is a howwid spectacle,’ to which the Porter, who makes a point of agreeing with everybody, replied, ‘Yes sir, certainly sir, of course sir.’
‘I fear the gentleman is partially, or even totally, inebwiated,’ continued the Dean, more to himself than the Porter, and then ‘we will wemove him to his bedwoom,’ which they proceeded to do.
As soon as the melancholy procession had passed down the staircase, a black and dispirited face appeared from the coal-bunker, and suggested that the party should leave for some other and less stirring part of the College.
‘It’ll be allright for Grausser,’ said Freddy, ‘dear old Fanny had a sister who died at twenty-nine from drinking eau-de-cologne, and he’s had a friendly feeling for the noble army of thirst quenchers ever since.’
‘I should suggest that Accrington takes to his virtuous couch,’ said Cobson, as we prepared to depart; ‘if you put a night-shirt over your clothes, and get into bed, you will naturally be too sleepy to answer any questions the Dean may ask. We’ll turn out the electric.’