“Yes, I do,” said Miller.
“Then this honourable member,” said Drysdale, getting off the table, “seeing that his humble efforts are unappreciated, thinks it best for the public service to place his resignation in the hands of your coxswainship.”
“Which my coxswainship is graciously pleased to accept,” replied Miller.
“Hurrah for a roomy punt and a soft cushion next racing night—it's almost worth while to have been rowing all this time, to realize the sensations I shall feel when I see you fellows passing the Cherwell on Tuesday.”
“Suave est, it's what I'm partial to, mari mango, in the last reach, terra, from the towing path, alterius magnum spectare laborem, to witness the tortures of you wretched beggars in the boat. I'm obliged to translate for Drysdale, who never learned Latin,” said Blake, finishing his tie before the glass. There was an awkward silence. Miller was chafing inwardly and running over in his mind what was to be done; and nobody else seemed quite to know what ought to happen next, when the door opened and Jervis came in.
“Congratulate me, my Captain,” said Drysdale; “I'm well out of it at last.”
Jervis “pished and pshaw'd” a little at hearing what had happened, but his presence acted like oil on the waters. The moment the resignation was named, Tom's thoughts had turned to Hardy. Now was the time—he had such confidence in the man, that the idea of getting him in for next race entirely changed the aspect of affairs to him, and made him feel as “bumptious” again as he had done in the morning. So with this idea in his head, he hung about till the Captain had made his toilet, and joined himself to him and Miller as they walked up.
“Well, what are we going to do now,” said the Captain.
“That's just what you have to settle,” said Miller; “you have been up all the term, and know the men's pulling better than I.”
“I suppose we must press somebody from the torpid—let me see, there's Burton.”