“Very glad to see you, Richardson. I hear you won the new boys’ race. You’ve got a good trainer in Cresswell. How do you do, Aspinall? Feeling more at home here, aren’t you? I recollect how lost I was the first time I tumbled into school.”
“Captain, allow me to introduce Mr Heathcote,” said Pledge.
Poor Heathcote, whose choker had now got round to his back, turned crimson, and said, “Thank you,” and then made a grab at the captain’s hand, by way of hiding his confusion.
“Ah, how are you, Heathcote?” said the magnate kindly. “Hope to see plenty of you in the ‘Tub,’ and down field. You new boys should show up out of doors all you can.”
Mansfield was not the only senior standing by who heard and appreciated this delicate hint. Pledge heard it too, and knew what it meant.
“If old Ponty,” said Mansfield to Cresswell, “would only follow it up, what a splendid captain he would be. There’s not another fellow can go through levée the way he does. He strokes down everybody. Goodness knows, when my turn comes, I shall come a cropper.”
“Your turn will come soon, if Ponty leaves this term. You’re bound to have levée in your first week. Hullo! what’s up down there?”
This last question was caused by the slight excitement of Den levée, which, according to programme, was in the act of being celebrated at the bottom of the hall.
Culver, who was really rather sore under the arms, with his long confinement in his cousin’s “swallow,” was mounted on a lexicon, and word being passed that he was ready to receive company, the Den proceeded to file past him, in imitation of the ceremony which had just been concluded on the upper dais.
The imitation in this case, however, was not flattery. Culver was not a dignified youth, and his sense of humour was not of that refined order which enables a man to distinguish between comedy and burlesque. He had a general idea that he had to make himself pleasant, which he accordingly did in his own peculiar style.