“Even so. What with mobs that wouldn't fight fair, the captains who would run away, and the proctors marshals who would interfere, we were 'perfectly disgusted with the whole proceedings,' as the Scotchman said when he was sentenced to be hanged.”
“Well! Heaven, they say, protects children, sailors, and drunken men; and whatever answer to Heaven in the academical system protects freshmen,” remarked Jervis.
“Not us, at any rate,” said Tom, “for we are to go to the proctor to-morrow morning.”
“What, did he catch you in your famous public?”
“No; the marshal came round to the porter's lodge, asked if we were in, and left word that, if we were not, we were to go to him in the morning. The porter told us just now as we came in.”
“Pshaw,” said the Captain, with disgust; “now you'll be gated probably, and the whole crew will be thrown out of gear. Why couldn't you have come home when I did?”
“We do not propose to attend the levee of that excellent person in office to-morrow morning,” said Drysdale. “He will forget all about it. Old Copas won't say a word—catch him. He gets too much out of me for that.”
“Well, you'll see; I'll back the proctor's memory.”
“But, Captain, what are you going to stand?”
“Stand! nothing, unless you like a cup of cold tea. You'll get no wine or spirits here at this time of night, and the buttery is shut. Besides you've had quite as much beer as good for you at your paragon public.”