‘Here am I, a working man’—this is where I coughed, but Reggie did not appear to notice it—‘with two lectures between now and lunch, both of which I am compelled to cut because an unfeeling Proctor is dunning me for a pound, which I must borrow from some one before one o’clock.’
‘Yes, it is very hard,’ I agreed. ‘But still I believe you have occasionally steeled your heart to cut a lecture even when there has been no Proctor in the background, and after all he can’t help it, it’s his business; I daresay if you knew him you’d find that he smoked a meerschaum and swore very much like other people.’
‘Yes, I know, that’s all right,’ said Reggie, who never likes to pursue an argument after he has got his own particular complaint off his chest, ‘we’ll wait for the Pilot to have his brekker and then go round to see Freddy.’
‘He’s sure to have his cheque by then,’ I said, ‘and of course he’ll lend us the wherewithal.’
The Pilot finished breakfast at 11.20 precisely, and then after carefully perusing the current society divorce case, we made our way to St. Aldate’s.
We found Freddy crouching in an arm-chair murmuring to himself passages from Anson, and instantly demanded if the money had arrived.
‘Oh, I dare say it’ll come some time to-day,’ said Freddy, crossly, and muttered to himself, ‘Agents of Necessity.’
‘That’s no earthly good,’ replied the Pilot, ‘we must find three quid by one o’clock and the oof-tree bears no fruit at this time of year.’
‘What’s the money for?’ demanded Freddy.