If Dr Ponsford were to question him on the subject of the chariot race, he felt that he would be seriously compromised at the outset of his career. He knew at least the nickname of one of the delinquents; and had actually, by standing and watching the contest without protest, been an accessory to the offence. He busied himself forthwith in his unpacking, and studiously avoided the window until daylight departed, and the court below became silent and deserted.
Just about four o’clock another knock sounded at his door, and Arthur Herapath presented himself, leading by the arm the tawny-haired hero of the chariot race.
“What cheer, Marky?” cried the brother-in-law to be. “Here we are. Had a spiffing spin up from the station, hadn’t we, Dig? This it Dig, you know, Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, M.P., A.S.S., and nobody knows what else. He and I have bagged Sykes’ old room, just over here.”
Railsford in his shirt-sleeves, and hemmed round by his luggage, looked up rather blankly at this friendly oration. However, his dignity came to his rescue.
“How are you both? I hope we’re to have a good steady term, my boys. Go to your study now—later on we must have a talk.”
Arthur looked at his friend and winked; Sir Digby was visibly agitated, and grinned vehemently at a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.
“All serene,” said the former. “By the way, Daisy was all right when I left her, and sent her love and a—”
“Do you hear me, Arthur? Go to your study.”
“Oh, all right—but there was a message from the gov. I was to be sure and give you directly I saw you. He says I can have a bob a week pocket-money, and you’re to give it to me, and he’ll owe it to you at the end of the term. I’d like the first now, please.”
“Go immediately to your room,” shouted Railsford, as near to losing his temper as his future brother-in-law had ever seen him. “How dare you disobey me?”