Unused to being questioned in this violent way, the town party at last turned and fled, and the gownsmen went in search of other foes to conquer. Even Mr. Verdant Green felt desperately courageous when the town took to their heels and vanished.
At Exeter College another town-and-gown fight was raging furiously. The town mob had come across the Senior Proctor, the Rev. Thomas Tozer; and while Old Towzer, as he was called, was trying to assert his proctorial authority over them, they had jeered him, and torn his clothes, and bespattered him with mud. A small group of gownsmen rushed to his rescue.
"Oh, this is painful," said the Rev. Thomas Tozer, putting the handkerchief to his bleeding nose. "This is painful! This is exceedingly painful, gentlemen!"
He was at once surrounded by sympathising undergraduates, who begged him to allow them to charge the town at once. But the Town far outnumbered the Gown, and, in spite of the assistance of the reverend proctor, the fight was going against them. The Rev. Thomas Tozer had just been knocked down for the first time in his life, and the cry of "Gown to the rescue!" fell very pleasantly on his ears. Mr. Verdant Green helped him to rise, while the Putney Pet stepped before him and struck out right and left. Ten minutes of scientific pugilism, and the fate of the battle was decided. The Town fled every way, and the Rev. Thomas Tozer was at last able to look calmly about him. He at once resumed his proctorial duties.
"Why have you not on your gown, sir?" he said to the Putney Pet.
"I ax yer pardon, guv'nor," said the Pet deferentially. "I couldn't get on in it, nohow. So I pocketed it; but some cove has gone and prigged it."
"I am unable to comprehend the nature of your language, sir," said the Rev. Thomas Tozer angrily, thinking it was an impudent undergraduate. "I don't understand you, sir; but I desire at once to know your name and college."
Mr. Bouncer, however, succeeded in explaining matters to the proctor, who then congratulated the Pet on having displayed pugilistic powers worthy of the Xystics of the noblest days of Ancient Rome. Both the Pet and the undergraduates wondered what a Xystic was, but instead of inquiring further into the matter, they went to the Roebuck, where, after a supper of grilled bones and welsh-rabbits, Mr. Verdant Green gave, "by particular request," his now celebrated song, "The Mar-arble Halls."
The forehead of the singer was decorated with a patch of brown paper, from which arose a strong smell of vinegar. But he was not ashamed of it; indeed, he wore it all the next day, and was sorry when he had to take it off--for was it not, in a way, a badge of courage?
From this time Mr. Verdant Green began to despise mere reading-men who never went in for sports. He resolved at once to go in for them all. He took to rowing, and was rescued from a watery grave by Mr. Bouncer. Then, defeated but undaunted, he took to riding, and was thrown off. But what did it matter? Before the term ended, he grew more accustomed to the management of Oxford tubs and Oxford hacks.