On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a “scientific” ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to betoken that it had an owner.
Being capacious, though dirty—for it was evidently in the habit of carrying coal—it struck us generally that in the interests of philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an extraordinary meeting.
Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the bank—“in case some of the day louts should be fooling about,” as Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up stream or down.
After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel, Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.
In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot for Jarman. (Cries of “Why don’t you?” “What’s the use of you?”) We didn’t intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn’t shut up shying bits of coal he’d get one for himself. (Derisive cheers from Coxhead, and more coal.)
Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.
“Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah—” Here an interruption occurred.
“Look here,” said I, “you’ve got to drop that, Langrish. I’ve told you already I’m not going to stand it.”
“Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?”
I explained that I was particularly referring to Sarah.