George laughed.
“I wish you’d let him eat my share as well.”
“I dare say he would be equal to the occasion. Newcome was always a good trencherman.”
At the name I bounded nearly out of my master’s pocket. Newcome! an old school chum of Jim Halliday’s. It must be my old master! And—yes—now I remembered, he had spoken in one of his letters to Tom Drift of going to Sandhurst Military College. It must be he. How I longed for my master to make up his mind and go to the breakfast!
“But I wouldn’t have you miss seeing him,” said Jim, “for I’m no end proud of him; and when you’ve once seen him, you’ll have seen the best fellow going. That is,” added he, “present company of course excepted.”
“I’m sure he’s a nice man.”
“Nice! Of course, and therefore fit company for you and me; so come along, old man. I never had such hard work inviting a man to breakfast in all my life.”
“I’m certain I’m ill-mannered,” said George, “but I won’t hold out any more. You will—”
“Hurrah, that’s settled, and here we are, too!”
With that he led the way up a staircase, on the second floor of which he opened a door, and ushered George into his rooms. No one was there yet, and there was consequently time to look about. Jim’s rooms were nothing very grand, but they were palatial compared with the “Mouse-trap.” Cheerful and well-lighted, with a pleasant look-out into the old quadrangle, comfortably furnished, further enlivened with all those adornments in the shape of swords, fencing-sticks, dumb-bells, etcetera, without which no model undergraduate’s rooms would be complete.