‘Well, Mr. Meredith, I don’t see, if the bank closes at one o’clock, why you didn’t go there before.’
‘But Freddy’s—I mean Lord Gilderdale’s—cheque didn’t arrive till one o’clock,’ said Reggie.
‘I fail to understand what connection Lord Gilderdale has with this matter,’ said the Proctor.
‘Oh,’ said Reggie, ‘none of us had any money just at present, but we knew Gilderdale expected a cheque from his solicitors this morning, and he promised to lend us a sovereign each.’
‘Oh, then, I am really fining Lord Gilderdale for your delinquencies; this is a very fine situation, Mr. Arlington,’ said the Proctor, with a nearer approach to geniality than we had hitherto seen.
‘Well, sir, hardly that,’ I put in; ‘you see all three of us really are expecting remittances of our own as we told you this morning, but as Lord Gilderdale’s arrived before any of ours he very kindly lent us three pounds.’
‘Very well then, gentlemen,’ said the Proctor, ‘I don’t know that this arrangement is quite regular, or that it would exactly meet with the approval of the Vice-Chancellor, but after all you have produced the amount of your fines, and it is no business of mine to enquire how you obtained that amount. I am sorry to say that I believed at first that your slight unpunctuality was due to disrespect, and that you were trying to do what I believe the present generation would call “pulling my leg” over these cheques, but I see that I misjudged you, and shall ask you to bring the money at ten to-morrow. Good morning, Mr. Arlington; good morning, gentlemen, good morning,’ and so saying the little man collapsed into his arm-chair, while we departed on our way more or less rejoicing.
Freddy, to whom we communicated the result of the interview, soothed our consciences with the very plausible, if somewhat immoral, argument:
‘It don’t do to give that sort of bird too much truth all in a lump, he ain’t accustomed to it; besides, if you start bringin’ him up on it, he’ll always expect it.’