They parted on the steps of Whitson, Dan and Tom scudding across to Oxford, and Alf, hands in pockets and head drooping dejectedly, walking off through the downpour toward Dudley. Dan tried to persuade Tom to accompany him to the lecture, and Tom strove to induce Dan to accept the hospitality of Oxford Society. They argued it out at the head of each flight of stairs and consumed some ten or fifteen minutes, and finally Tom tried to kidnap Dan by main force in the upper corridor, and was severely reprimanded by an usher for unseemly noise. The lecture was mildly interesting and lasted the better part of an hour. At the back of the hall a group of younger fellows, among whom was Gerald, found the darkened room much to their liking and spent most of the time cutting-up. The lecturer, a spare, nervous gentleman with a prominent Adam’s apple and a very bald head, was visibly annoyed at times, and when one of the pictures was thrown on the screen upside-down didn’t discover the fact until the snickers of his audience appraised him that something was wrong. After the entertainment was over Dan met Gerald in the corridor and took him off to Alf’s room. They scuttled over to Dudley through the rain and slush and found Alf alone in his glory, his feet to the fire and a tablet and pencil in his hands.
“Where’s Tom?” he asked. “I need him. Hello, Gerald. Fate, Mr. Pennimore, has decreed that you be one of us. Your appearance, as welcome as unexpected, decides the matter. I congratulate you.”
“What the dickens are you babbling about?” asked Dan, ruffling Alf’s hair. “What’s the game?”
“You shall know in due time. I can’t explain it more than once, and so we will await the arrival of Mr. Dyer, our respected colleague. While you fellows have been wasting your valuable time in aimless pleasures I have been working.” He held up a leaf from the tablet scrawled upon on both sides.
“Is it poetry?” asked Gerald.
“Or an essay for The Scholiast?” suggested Dan.
“No, children, it is—But here comes Mr. Dyer. Welcome, Mr. Dyer. Remove your coat and join our little home circle.”
“Alf’s got one of his silly fits,” said Dan. “Sit down, Tom, and let him get it off his chest.”
Alf arose, turned his back to the fireplace, thrust one hand between the buttons of his waistcoat and faced his audience impressively. Dan and Tom cheered subduedly.