“Who cares? I'll be bound, now, the old fox came straight home to earth. Let's go and knock him up.”
Tom assented, for he was anxious to consult Jervis as to his proceedings in the morning; so they soon found themselves drumming at his oak, which was opened shortly by “the stroke” in an old boating-jacket. They followed him in. At one end of his table stood his tea-service and the remains of his commons, which the scout had not cleared away; at the other, open books, note-books, and maps showed that the Captain read, as he rowed, “hard all.”
“Well, are you two only just in?”
“Only just, my Captain,” answered Drysdale.
“Have you been well thrashed, then? You don't look much damaged?”
“We are innocent of fight since your sudden departure—flight, shall I call it?—my Captain.”
“Where have you been?”
“Where! why in the paragon of all pot houses; snug little bar with red curtains; stout old benevolent female in spectacles; barmaid an houri; and for malt the most touching tap in Oxford, wasn't it, Brown?”
“Yes, the beer was undeniable,” said Tom.
“Well, and you dawdled there till now?” said Jervis.