“No; it was a jolly good run. You ought to have seen it; I and my lot were up the oak, you know; we could have tucked you in. My young brother Percy and his Modern cads—k-i-d-s (I never can pronounce it)—were on the steps.”
“Oh,” said the poor guest, feeling he ought to reciprocate the civility of his entertainers. “Steps is nice things to be on when you ain’t got nowheres else.”
“Tea!” shouted Fisher minor, who with Ashby had been busily charging the table.
It was now the turn of the hosts to be shy. At this late period of the term funds had run low, and extras were at a premium. A busy hour had been spent during the forenoon in both houses collecting outstanding debts, contracting loans at the point of the sword, and laying out the contents of the common purse at the shop in delicacies suitable to the occasion. Abernethys and ham, of course, figured prominently. The cake and jam was rather a “scratch lot,” as they mostly consisted of “outsides” and “pot-ends” collected from various sources and amalgamated into one stock. But, to compensate for this, Wally had managed to get round the matron, and by representing to her the delicate nature of the entertainment, wheedled her out of a pot of “extra special” tea, and a small jug of cream. For the rest, there were the relics of the “Cock-House” commissariat, a cocoa-nut, generously contributed by Fisher major, and the usual allowance of bread and butter.
The principal delicacy of the feast, however, was contributed by a fair lady, and to Percy belonged the honour and glory of its acquisition.
On his way from Hall he had run flop into the arms of Mrs Stratton, who was carrying in her hands a small basket of hothouse grapes.
“I’m awfully sorry, I say, Mrs Stratton,” said the culprit, as the basket and its contents fell to the ground. “So am I,” said Mrs Stratton. “There’s two bunches out of three not bashed,” said Percy, on his knees picking up the ruin. “I say, Mrs Stratton, if you’d let me pay for the other I can give you twopence a week, beginning next week. I’d rather, you know.”
Mrs Stratton laughed pleasantly. It was always a satisfaction, she told her husband, to come into collision with a junior. He always got the best of it.
“No, thank you, Wheatfield. But I tell you what you must do.”
“All serene, Mrs Stratton,” said Percy submissively, preparing himself for a hundred lines at least.