Bob drank the toast audibly, floored his tumbler of port at two gulps, and departed.
"Now," said Horace, "do just tell me—what is become of Hurst? how didn't you bring him home?"
"Confound it!" said Miller, as he looked into all the jugs—"no whiskey punch?"
"Oh, really I forgot it; here's bishop, and that brandy punch is very good. But how didn't he come home with you?"
"Forgot it!" soliloquized Miller pathetically.
"Forgot it? how the deuce came you to forget it? and how will he come now?" rejoined Horace.
"How came you to forget it? I was talking about the whiskey punch," said Miller, as we all roared with laughter. "I couldn't bring Hurst, you know, if he wouldn't come. He left the playhouse even before we did, with some ladies—and we came away before it was over—so I sent up to tell him we were going to start in ten minutes, and had a place for him; and the Boots came down and said they had just had supper in, and the gentleman could not possibly come just yet. Well, I sent up again, just as we were ready harnessed, and then he threatened to kick Boots down stairs."
"What a puppy!" said Horace.
"I don't quite agree with you there: I don't pretend to much sentiment myself, as you are all aware; but with a lady and a supper in the case, I should feel perfectly justified in kicking down stairs any Boots that ever wore shoes, if he hinted at my moving prematurely."
Miller's unusual enthusiasm amused us all except Horace. "Gad," said he, at last, "I hope he won't be able to get home to-night at all!" In this friendly wish he was doomed to be disappointed. It was now verging towards twelve o'clock; the out-college members of the party had all taken their leave; Miller and Fane, having finished their grilled chicken at a little table in the corner, had now drawn round the fire with the three or four of us who remained, and there was a debate as to the expediency of brewing more punch, when we heard a running step in the Quadrangle, which presently began to ascend the staircase in company with a not very melodious voice, warbling in a style which bespoke the owner's high state of satisfaction.