However, nothing happened but a little sparring, and the breakfast things were cleared away, and the tankards left on the table, and the company betook themselves to cigars and easy chairs. Jack came out of his corner to be gratified with some of the remnants by his fond master, and then curled himself up on the sofa along which Drysdale lounged.
“What are you going to do to-day, Drysdale?” said one of the others. “I've ordered a leader to be sent on over the bridge, and mean to drive my dog-cart over, and dine at Abingdon. Won't you come?”
“Who's going besides?” asked Drysdale.
“Oh, only St. Cloud and Farley here. There's lots of room for a fourth.”
“No, thank'ee; teaming's slow work on the back seat. Besides, I've half promised to go down in the boat.”
“In the boat!” shouted the other. “Why, you don't mean to say you're going to take to pulling?”
“Well, I don't know; I rather think I am. I'm dog-tired of driving and doing the High Street, and playing cards and billiards all day, and our boat is likely to be head of the river, I think.”
“By Jove! I should as soon have thought of you taking to reading, or going to University Sermon,” put in St. Cloud.
“And the boating-men, too,” went on Farley; “did you ever see such a set, St. Cloud? with their everlasting flannels and jerseys, and hair cropped like prize-fighters?”
“I'll bet a guinea there isn't one of them has more than 200L a year,” put in Chanter, whose father could just write his name, and was making a colossal fortune by supplying bad iron rails to the new railway companies.