“Don’t know. Depends on what he’s got in his bag. If it’s a cargo, he won’t be out for a couple of nights.”
All this was very alarming to Coote, who devoutly hoped Culver’s “cargo” might be big enough to keep him many nights in unloading it.
Dick and Heathcote led their junior partner rejoicing to the housekeeper, and assisted in counting out his shirts and socks. They then took him to show him off in the lobbies, deserting him once or twice, to his consternation, in order to greet some crony or take part in a mild shindy in the studies.
The presence of their “new kid” inspired them with a wonderful fund of humour and audacity. His astonishment flattered them and his panics delighted them. With a lively recollection of their own experiences last term, they took care he should be wandering in the Quad when the “dredger” came its rounds; and, for fear he should miss the warm consolations of a lower third “Scrunch,” they organised one for his special benefit, and had the happiness of seeing him rising in the middle, scared and puffing, with cheeks the colour of a peony. All the while they tried to figure as his protectors, and demanded credit for getting him through his ordeals in a way he would by no means have got, if left, as they had been, to his own resources.
Nor were they wholly unoriginal in their endeavours to make him feel at home in his new surroundings.
“By George! it’s ten minutes to dinner-time,” said Dick, looking at the clock. “There’ll be a frightful row if you are late first day, and you’ve barely time to dress.”
“Dress! I am dressed,” said Coote, in alarm.
“You muff, you’re not in your flannels. Think of a new fellow turning up to Hall first day not in his flannels, eh, Georgie?”
“My eye!” said Georgie; “what a row there’d be!”
“Cut as hard as ever you can, and put them on. Better not show up till just as the clock strikes, in case fellows humbug you. We’ll be near the door and show you where to sit.”