“I do hope we shall find all quiet at Englebourn. I am always afraid of some trouble there.”
CHAPTER XXVIII—THE END OF THE FRESHMAN'S YEAR
On the morning after Commemoration, Oxford was in a bustle of departure. The play had been played, the long vacation had begun, and visitors and members seemed equally anxious to be off. At the gates of the colleges, groups of men in travelling-dresses waited for the coaches, omnibuses, dog-carts and all manner of vehicles, which were to carry them to the Great Western railway station at Steventon, or elsewhere, to all points of the compass. Porters passed in and out with portmanteaus, gun-cases, and baggage of all kinds, which they piled outside the gates, or carried off to “The Mitre” or “The Angel,” under the vigorous and not too courteous orders of the owners. College servants flitted round the groups to take instructions, and, it so might be, to extract the balances of extortionate bills out of their departing masters. Dog-fanciers were there also, holding terriers; and scouts from the cricketing grounds, with bats and pads under their arms; and hostlers, and men from the boats, all on the same errand of getting the last shilling out of their patrons—a fawning, obsequious crowd for the most part, with here and there a sturdy Briton who felt that he was only there for his due.
Through such a group, at the gate of St. Ambrose, Tom and Hardy passed soon after breakfast time, in cap and gown, which costume excited no small astonishment.
“Hullo, Brown, old fellow! ain't you off this morning?”
“No, I shall be up for a day or two yet.”
“Wish you joy. I wouldn't be staying up over to-day for something.”
“But you'll be at Henley to-morrow?” said Diogenes, confidently, who stood at the gate in boating coat and flannels, a big stick and knapsack, waiting for a companion, with whom he was going to walk to Henley.
“And at Lord's on Friday,” said another. “It will be a famous match. Come and dine somewhere afterwards, and go to the Haymarket with us.”