‘A reputation,’ remarked the Pilot, solemnly, ‘is an expensive and unnecessary luxury in Oxford, and I can only marvel at the fearful efforts daily made by many to retain what was originally only a shadow.’ After this sweeping statement the unfortunate Peter was carried off to lunch at Luther House by a person with a pale face and a black cloak. As we strolled back to digs Reggie informed us that the Rajah had monopolised the entire company for the day, and there was nothing to do but to look forward to to-morrow’s lunch, which was going, in Kruger’s famous phrase, to ‘stagger humanity.’
From an early hour on Friday the antique remnant who wheels about Woodman’s cart was engaged in carrying delicacies of every kind, from champagne cup to salted almonds, towards 129, and Mrs. Corker, whose tongue has solved the problem of perpetual motion, spent the morning in listening to and immediately forgetting the numerous instructions which Squiff issued from his bedroom.
Freddy, being a Roman Catholic, fasts—on lobster mayonnaise—every Friday, so he journeyed to the extreme end of the Banbury Road to get a dispensation from Father McGinnis, his spiritual adviser. On my arrival at 11.15 with Reggie, an agonized voice from Squiff’s room besought me to hurry round to the Purewell Press and demand the menus, which were Freddy’s choice, and calculated to make any one sit up. When I returned from this errand I found Squiff, who had reached the collar and braces stage, issuing his fifth batch of instructions to the muddled Corker, who had propped herself against the bannisters and was weeping copiously.
At this juncture Freddy did a cake-walk into the room waving the dispensation, and we toasted the McGinnis in sherry and bitters. Freddy says that no one Roman Catholic priest stays in Oxford for long, the confessions are too much for them. While we were still honouring the Reverend Father a large crowd in the street below attracted our attention, and out of it there emerged Accrington, Reggie and the Pilot, carrying between them Farmborough’s bull-pup, the infamous Totters, who had apparently had a slight difference of opinion with a tram-conductor. Having deposited the ferocious animal in Freddy’s bedder they joined us in the drawing-room, where the unfortunate Corker met us with the announcement that Woodman had sent round no crockery but soup-plates. This horrible catastrophe instantly revealed Squiff’s marvellous faculty for dealing with an emergency. Before we had finished discussing what to do he had returned from next door bringing with him an entire dinner service which he had borrowed from the Hon. Lionel Strongi’th’arm, of Thomas’, as the said gentleman was going to attend the biterminal lunch of the Swillingdon Club. This promptitude so surprised Mrs. Corker that she found it necessary to have a cup of tea with a slight dash in it, which Squiff readily granted, as he says the savoury is always better when the Corker has dipped her beak.
At this moment the Pilot, who was more out of the window than in the room, espied our guests coming down St. Aldate’s, whereupon Squiff and Freddy ran down to meet them, while Reggie hastily secreted Squiff’s seven signed photos of Mabel Amoore, on account, as he explained, of professional jealousy. Freddy had only just directed them to his bedroom to leave their hats, when several loud shrieks followed by heavy thumps heralded the entrance of Miss Tiny Trimmer, with Totters firmly attached to her under petticoat. As they got inside the door they parted company, and Totters leapt upon the sofa triumphantly shaking in his mouth a piece of frilled yellow silk, which Freddy rescued and locked in his private drawer as a memento. The Corker was hastily summoned to give professional assistance, after which we sat down to lunch, a party of twelve.
The late Mr. Corker’s half-brother, a military gentleman of funereal aspect, by the name of Blubb, had kindly consented, for a small gratuity, to assist on this occasion; ‘it being,’ as he explained to Squiff, ‘not my hordinary vacation, but honly to oblige.’
‘I’m so sorry about that wretched dog,’ said Freddy, as he settled himself beside Tiny, ‘but he was always of an enquiring nature.’
‘Oh! he’s not so bad as Jellipore,’ replied Tiny, ‘he sticks like a burr. Why, when we told him we were out to every meal on Wednesday, he had a special one at half-past eleven in the morning for us, and we had to go.’
‘I’ve had over a dozen notes from him since we arrived,’ said Ina wearily across the table, ‘and he sends me poppies every day, the one flower I loathe.’