Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  OXFORD'S WELCOME TO BINDLE

  I

  At three o'clock on the following day the down platform at Oxfordstation presented an almost gala appearance. Not only were the men ofSt. Joseph's there, but hundreds of undergraduates from other colleges,with rattles, whistles, horns, flags, and every other attribute ofgreat rejoicing.

  Outside the station was a carriage with four horses, a piebald, askewbald, a white, and another horse that seemed to have set out inlife with a determination to be pink. Tom Little had himself selectedthe animals with elaborate care.

  A little distance away, standing in groups, was a band clothedgorgeously in scarlet and gold tunics and caps, and nondescripttrousers, ranging from light grey to black.

  Tom Little had given careful instructions that as soon as JosiahWilliams should emerge from the station, the band was to strike up "Seethe Conquering Hero Comes," and they were to put into it all they knew.If they produced a really good effect they were to have unlimited beer.

  Reginald Graves stood in the centre of the platform, some of theleading spirits of St. Joseph's keeping a clear space so that themeeting between uncle and nephew might be dramatic. A morewretched-looking nephew of a millionaire uncle never existed.

  Round him were scores of men with cameras, whom Graves instinctivelyknew to be newspaper men; and perched high above the crowd occupyingimportant strategical positions he counted eight cinematograph cameras,each with its attendant operator.

  St. Joseph's men had been good customers to a well-known Londonperruquier for false wigs, whiskers, and moustaches, with the aid ofwhich an unlimited supply of "newspaper" and "cinematograph-men" hadbeen produced.

  Ignorant of all this, Graves groaned in spirit.

  At four minutes past three the London train, amid a general buzz ofexcitement, steamed into the station. Pandemonium seemed to havebroken out. Whistles shrilled, bugles blew, voices roared, and rattlesadded their share to the general uproar.

  The passengers in the train were at first startled, and then becamedeeply interested. From the platform hundreds of eyes searched theopening carriage doors. Presently there was seen to alight a smallman, dressed in a black-and-white check suit, with a pale grey homburghat adorned with a white puggaree, a Ted tie, patent boots, and whitespats. Over his left arm he carried a light dust-coat, and in his handa gold-mounted malacca cane with a broad gold band. In the right handwas an enormous cigar adorned with a red-and-gold band.

  It was Bindle.

  "That's him," cried a hundred voices.

  "Good old Josh!"

  "What price wallabys?"

  "Where's your lady friend?" and other irrelevant remarks were hurledfrom all quarters.

  The "cinematograph-men" turned their handles. The "newspaper-men"swarmed down upon Bindle and levelled their cameras from every possibleangle. Graves was hastened to the spot where Bindle was endeavouringto avoid looking into the barrel of a huge "camera."

  Men hit him on the back, poked him in the ribs, shouted their welcomesand generally cheer-oh'd him.

  After a desperate effort Tom Little fought his way through the crowd,followed by Travers and Guggers dragging the reluctant Graves.Suddenly Tom Little jumped up on Guggers' back.

  "Mr. Josiah Williams, we welcome you to Oxford, we, the men of St.Joseph's."

  Bindle looked at the laughing faces and remarked, "And very nice, too.Cheer-oh the lot!"

  "This," continued Tom Little, when a space had been cleared, largelydue to Guggers' magnificent tackling, "this is your distinguishednephew, Reginald Graves, whom to know is to love."

  The unhappy Graves was dragged forward. Bindle extended two fingers ofhis left hand.

  "So you're Polly's boy?"

  Graves started. His mother's name had been Mary Williams, and hisfather had always called her Polly. Was he dreaming, or could it bepossible that it was all true, and that fame and fortune were beforehim? A brother of his mother's had gone to Australia when quite alittle lad. He was roused from his reverie by somebody shouting:

  "Say how-d'ye-do to uncle," and he found himself clasping Bindle's twofingers with a warmth that surprised himself.

  He looked round him. There was a dense crowd waving flags, and all inhonour of this man who greeted him as nephew. A new prospect openeditself to his bewildered brain. If only it prove to be true!

  "Now, come along, Mr. Williams." It was Tom Little's voice again thatbroke in upon his thoughts. "We've got a carriage waiting for you."

  Travers had slipped out and found the band split up into three groups.He went up to each in turn; the first two he reminded that they wereplaying "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and the third group he toldthat the clash of welcome had been changed to "Auld Lang Syne." Theymust start at once, as Mr. Williams was just leaving the station.Urged by Travers the band formed up with incredible speed. Just thenBindle emerged, with Tom Little on one side and Guggers on the other.He was saying to Guggers:

  "Look 'ere, young feller, if you can't talk without spittin' in my ear,you just dry up."

  At that second the band broke out, every man doing his utmost.Everyone looked a little surprised, for the two melodies combinedbadly. The drummer was the first to discover that something was wrong.Recognising that the instruments round him were playing "Auld LangSyne" he changed the time of his thumps. Then hearing the other tune,he paused and with inspiration finished up by trying to combine the twomelodies by putting in thumps from both.

  Some of the Conquering Heroes stopped and became Auld Lang Syners,whilst several Auld Lang Syners went over to the enemy. It waspandemonium.

  "What's up wi' the band?" enquired Bindle. "Sounds like a CrystalPalace competition; I 'ope nothink busts."

  Still the band went on.

  "Gawd Almighty! wot's that?" Bindle's eyes dilated with something likehorror at the sight of a huge brown shape sitting on the box of thecarriage. He stopped as if electrified.

  "That," said Tom Little, "is a kangaroo. Your national animal."

  "Me national wot?" said Bindle.

  "The national animal of Australia."

  "Oh!" said Bindle, keeping a wary eye on the beast, whose tail hungdown into the body of the carriage. "Well, I'm jiggered! It lookslike a circus," he muttered. "Look at them 'osses!" he exclaimed,pointing with the hand that held the cigar to the steeds which had justcaught his eye. "Look at them 'osses!"

  Bindle eventually entered the carriage with Reginald Graves on his lefthand, Dick Little and Travers opposite. Guggers had intended to sitopposite also, but Bindle had asked in a whisper which nobody failed tohear:

  "'Ere, can't yer put that syphon somewhere else? 'E'll soak me to theskin."

  Amid cheers the procession started. The band, which had a few minutesbefore blown itself to silence, was now devoting itselfenthusiastically to "The Washington Post." On the box the kangaroo,known in private life as Horace Trent, the cox of the St. Joseph'sboat, performed a few innocent tricks, to the great diversion of thecrowd, whilst Bindle, drawing from his pocket a red pocket-handkerchiefwith the five stars of Australia upon it, alternately waved hisacknowledgments and lifted his hat.

  "I never knew young fellers like this could be so friendly," hemuttered.

  Graves spent his time alternately in praying that no one might see himand that Bindle would become less uproariously genial.

  Having passed up and down every street of importance, the processionfinally made its way to the Sceptre, where Bindle alighted and wasconducted to his apartments by the bland manager. At every turn wereto be seen obsequious and deferential servants, who had one eye on himand the other on the day of reckoning.

  A late edition of that evening's _Oxford Courier_ contained a piquantaccount of the reception accorded to Mr. Josiah Williams. It referredto the generous if boisterous humour of the undergraduates. It went onto state how

  "our representative called at the Sceptre, where he was so fortunate asto catch the distingui
shed visitor just as he was entering. Mr.Williams is delighted with Oxford, his welcome, and everybody he hasmet. 'They say English people are stiff and stand-offish--why, I'vehad to change my collar. Kicking kangaroos!' exclaimed Mr. Williams,'this is some country.'

  "The first thing that struck our representative about Mr. Williams washis genial and pleasant bearing and entire absence of self-importance.He is obviously a simple man, unspoiled by his great success."

  Reginald Graves shuddered as he read this in the privacy of his ownrooms, remembering Bindle's accent and deportment.

  "Although he would neither confess nor deny it, we understand that Mr.Williams is in England in connection with certain philanthropicschemes. We congratulate Mr. Reginald Graves on possessing as an uncleMr. Josiah Williams, and Oxford on possessing Mr. Reginald Graves, ifonly for a short time."

  II

  "So you're Polly's boy." Bindle was receiving in his sitting-room atthe Sceptre, surrounded by the leading spirits of St. Joseph's,including the kangaroo, which was clutching a large glass ofshandygaff. In the public bar below the band was busy realising whathitherto had been little more than an ambition, and about "the High"the remains of the crowd lingered.

  "Reginald's your name, ain't it?" Bindle continued. "Reg will do forme. Mother livin'? 'Ow's yer father? Still in the grocery business?"

  Graves burst into an assurance that they were quite well, then addedthat his mother was dead.

  "Poor ole Poll," murmured Bindle, looking anything but doleful, andhiding a grin in the huge tankard that he raised to his lips. "She wasa rare ole sport. Never met yer father. Quaint ole bird, ain't 'e?"

  Mr. Graves was thankful when the conversation took a less domesticturn. That afternoon he felt that the eyes of all Oxford were uponhim, and deep down in his soul he cursed St. Joseph, the college, andevery man therein.

  Worse was in store for Graves. When he returned to his rooms a messagewas brought by his "scout" that the Master would like to see him. Inan agony of apprehension he made his way to the Master's study. He wasrelieved at the cordiality of his reception.

  "I understand that your uncle has arrived, Graves? I shall be verypleased to make his acquaintance. Perhaps you will bring him toluncheon to-morrow."

  Even Reginald Graves's self-repression could not disguise his agony ofmind. He saw the luncheon-table, Dr. Peter playing the conventionallycordial host, and Mrs. Peter, with her frigid mid-Victorian austerity,endeavouring to pose as a great lady.

  Was fate conspiring against him? There was the supper that evening atBungem's, which he knew would be a torture, and the martyrdom of themorrow. Human flesh was too frail to withstand it!

  He found himself again saying that he should be delighted; at least, heassumed that was what he said. Dr. Peter seemed satisfied. Just as hewas taking his leave he remarked:

  "Were you responsible for this ill-conceived demonstration to-day atthe station?"

  "No, sir, most certainly not," replied Graves, in a voice that carriedconviction.

  "Very deplorable, most deplorable. It will probably give Mr. Williamsa very bad impression of English culture. I shall look into thematter, and find out who was guilty of this most unseemly exhibition.I am glad to hear that you are not in any way implicated, Graves. Mostdeplorable, most."

  With a murmur of thanks Graves left the Master's study, praying thatDr. Peter might visit his wrath upon those responsible for what hadcaused him so much anguish and suffering.

  III

  Oxford without Bungem's would not be Oxford. "St. Bungem theHospitable" was known throughout the Empire. His fame reached fromeast to west and north to south. Up the staircase leading to thefamous dining-hall many illustrious men, as yet unillustrious, hadpassed with firm and confident step. On the walls were innumerableflashlight photographs of famous suppers, suppers that had reducedpotential judges and incipient statesmen to helpless imbecility. Primeministers-to-be, generals of the future, and admirals of the nextgeneration had lost their bearings and their equilibrium as a result ofthe good fare, liquid fare, that is, dispensed by the immortal Bungem.

  Colonial governors, viceroys, and archbishops could have recalleduproarious nights spent beneath the hospitable roof of Bungem's, hadtheir memories not been subject to severe censorship.

  Framed above the head of the table was the quatrain, written by afuture Poet Laureate, that was the pride of Bungem's heart:

  "Take from me all I have: my friends, My songs, for no one's ever sung 'em; One crowded hour of glorious life I crave, but let it be with Bungem."

  Never had Bungem's presented so gay and glorious an appearance as onthe Wednesday evening of the famous supper to Josiah Williams.

  Applications for tickets had poured in upon the Dinner Committeehastily organised by the men of St. Joseph's. Many ideas, in whichoriginality and insanity were happily blended, had been offered to theCommittee. One man had even suggested that the waiters should bedressed as kangaroos; but the idea had been discarded owing to thedifficulty of jumping with plates of soup. Another suggestion had beenthat nothing but Mr. Williams's mutton should be eaten, whilst a thirdhad proposed a bushman's menu. An Australian Rhodes man had, however,with great gravity of countenance, assured the Committee that theBushmen were cannibals, and the project had been abandoned.

  The banquet was limited to two hundred covers, and the applications hadexceeded twice that number. Preference was given to men of St.Joseph's, and after that to the Australian Rhodes scholars, who hadkindly undertaken during the course of the evening to reproduce thebattle-cry of the Bushmen.

  One Rhodes scholar, more serious than the rest, suggested that theBushmen had no battle-cry; but he was promptly told that they wouldpossess one after that evening.

  Tom Little had taken upon himself the guarding of Reginald Graves, as asuspicion had flitted through the minds of the organisers of the feastthat he might fail them at the last moment. As a matter of fact he didventure a remark that he felt very ill, and would go to bed. That wasduring the afternoon. But the Committee of Management had made itclear that he was to be at the dinner, and that if he went to bed hewould probably be there in pyjamas.

  The Committee called for Mr. Josiah Williams at the Sceptre at 8.30,formally to escort him to Bungem's. They discovered Bindle in thehappiest of moods and full evening-dress. In his shirt-front blazedthe "Moonagoona star, the second finest diamond that Australia had everproduced." On his head was an opera hat, and over his arm a lightovercoat. The party walked over to Bungem's, passing through aconsiderable crowd that had collected outside the Sceptre.

  At Bungem's the guests lined up on each side from the pavement up thestairs into the reception-room, and as the guest of honour arrivedarm-in-arm with Tom Little they broke out into "For He's a Jolly GoodFellow," led by an impromptu band consisting of a concertina, threemouth-organs, six whistles, eighteen combs, and a tea-tray.

  Dick Little, who had arrived by a later train than that carryingBindle, was in the chair. He was an old St. Joseph's man and hismemory was still green, although he had gone down some yearspreviously. On his right sat Bindle, the guest of the evening; next tohim were Reginald Graves and Guggers.

  When all the guests were seated the chairman's mallet called for order.

  "Gentlemen, you are too graceless a crew for grace, but you understandthe laws of hospitality, that much I grant you. It is our object tomake our distinguished visitor, Mr. Josiah Williams of Moonagoona,thoroughly welcome and at home, and to remind him of the sylvan gladesof Moonagoona." Then, turning to Bindle, "Am I right, sir, in assumingthat Moonagoona has sylvan glades?"

  "'It it first time," replied Bindle. "Mooniest place I was ever in.It used to be called Moonaspoona till the birth-rate dropped." Thisremark was greeted with a roar of approval.

  "We will open the proceedings with a representation of the AustralianBushmen's war-cry, kindly contributed by certain Rhodes scholars andothers from the Antipodes."

  The
war-cry was not a success, but the meal that followed savoured ofthe palmiest days of Bungem's. The food was plentiful and excellentlycooked; the wine more plentiful and generously served.

  Bindle's greatest concern was his white shirt-front. He had tucked hisnapkin in his collar, but that did not reassure him, because he thenbecame alarmed lest the napkin should be soiled. However, he watchedvery carefully the careless, well-bred eating of Little and thefinicking deportment of Graves, and managed to strike the middlecourse. It is true he absorbed his soup with sibilance and from thepoint of the spoon; but apart from that he acquitted himselfexcellently until the arrival of the asparagus. When the waiterpresented it Bindle eyed the long, slender stems suspiciously. Then helooked at the waiter and back again at the stems and shook his head.

  "Nonsense!" said Dick Little; "nobody ever refuses asparagus atBungem's."

  _Asperge a la Bungem_ is a dish the memory of which every Oxford mancherishes to the end of his days.

  Bindle weakened, and helped himself liberally, a circumstance which hesoon regretted.

  "How do I eat it?" he enquired of Dick Little in an anxious whisper.

  "Watch me," replied Little.

  The asparagus was tired and refused to preserve an erect position.Each stem seemed desirous of forming itself into an inverted "U."Little selected a particularly wilted stem and threw his head well backin the position of a man about to be shaved, and lowered the asparagusslowly into his mouth.

  Nobody took any particular notice of this, and Little had been verycareful to take only two or three stems. To the horror of Graves,Bindle followed Dick Little's lead.

  "Funny sort o' stuff, Reggie, ain't it?" said Bindle, resuming anupright position in order to select another stick. "Seems as if yer'ad to 'ave somebody rubbin' yer while it goes down."

  Never in the history of Bungem's had the famous asparagus been soneglected. Everybody was watching alternately Bindle and Graves.Bindle was enjoying himself; but on the face of Graves was painted ananguish so poignant that more than one man present pitied him hisordeal.

  Dick Little's mallet fell with a thump, and the attention of the guestsbecame diverted from Graves to the chairman, amidst cries of "Chair,""Order," "Shame," and "Chuck him out."

  "Gentlemen--a mere euphemism, I confess," began Dick Little; "men ofSt. Joseph's never propose the toast of the King; that is a toast thatwe all drink silently and without reminder. The toast of the eveningis naturally that of the health and happiness of the guest of theevening, Mr. Josiah Williams of Moonagoona--a man, need I say more?"

  There were loud cheers, in which Bindle joined.

  In proposing the toast of the evening, Dick Little dwelt upon thedistinction conferred upon Oxford in general and St. Joseph's inparticular by Reginald Graves in selecting it from out of the myriadother universities and colleges. He touched lightly upon the loveGraves had inspired in the hearts of his contemporaries; but nevergreater than when he had generously decided to share with them hisuncle.

  "This uncle," he continued, "has raised mutton and a nephew, and it isdifficult to decide which of the two the men of St. Joseph's love themore: Josiah's mutton, or Josiah's nephew.

  "Gentlemen, fellow-wanderers along the paths of knowledge, I give youthe toast, Mr. Josiah Williams of Moonagoona, and with that toast Icrave your permission to associate all his bleating sheep."

  The whole assembly sprang to its feet, cheering wildly, among theothers Bindle, who drank his own health with gusto and enthusiasm.

  The shouts that greeted Bindle when he rose to respond to the toastcreated a record even for Bungem's. Bindle gazed round himimperturbably, as if the making of a speech were to him an everydaymatter.

  In his right hand he held a cigar, and three fingers of his left handrested lightly upon the edge of the table. When the din had subsidedhe began.

  "Gentlemen, I never knew 'ow fortunate I was until now. I been raisin'sheep and 'ell in Moonagoona for years, forgettin' all about this 'erelittle cherub," Bindle indicated Graves with a wave of his hand, "andall the jolly times I might 'ave 'ad through 'im. Moonagoona ain'texactly a paradise, it's too 'ot for that; still, if any of yer evermanages to find yer way there you'll be lucky, and you'll be luckierstill if yer finds yours truly there at the same time. No; I doneraisin' 'ell an' mutton, bein' too old for one an' too tired for theother.

  "When I decided to 'ave a nephew I prayed 'ard for a good 'un, an' theysent me this little chap." Bindle patted Reggie's head affectionatelyamidst resounding cheers. "'E ain't much to look at," continuedBindle, with a grin, "'e ain't the beauty 'is uncle was at 'is age;still, 'e seems to 'ave a rare lot o' pals."

  More eyes were watching Graves than Bindle. His face was very whiteand set, and he strove to smile; but it was a sickly effort. Hisimmediate neighbours noticed that his glass, which those around himwere careful to keep filled, was raised frequently to his lips. Fromtime to time he looked round him like a hunted animal who seeks butfails to find some avenue of escape.

  "'E was always a good boy to 'is mother, my sister Polly, an' now 'e'sa gentleman, 'im wot once took round oil an' sausages for 'is fatherwhen 'e kep' a general shop.

  "Everyone," proceeded Bindle, referring to a scrap of paper he held,"'as heard o' Tom Graves, grocer, of 60 'Igh Street, Bingley. 'E don'tmix sand with 'is sugar and sell it at threepence a pound, not 'im; 'emixes it wi' the tea at one-an'-eight a pound. There ain't no flies onold Tom.

  "'Is mother, when she was in service, 'fore she married Tom, 'ad a facealmost as pretty as Reggie's." Bindle placed his hand beneath Graves'schin and elevated his flushed face and gazed down into his nephew'swatery eyes.

  Graves half rose from his seat, an ugly look on his face, but someonedragged him down again. He looked round the room with unseeing eyes,making vain endeavours to moisten his lips. Once or twice he seemeddetermined to get up and go, but Guggers' brawny arm was always thereto restrain him. There was nothing for it but to sit and listen.

  "Now, gentlemen," continued Bindle, "I mustn't keep yer." (There wereloud cries of "Go on," "The night is young," and similarencouragements.) "Although," continued Bindle, "I could tell yerthings yer might like to know about 'orses, beer, women, an' otherthings wot 'urt." (Loud cries of "No!") "Well, wait till you'remarried, then yer'll see. As I was sayin', this is an 'appy evenin'.

  "Lord, I seen things in Moonagoona," continued Bindle reminiscently,"that 'ud make yer 'air stand on end. There's the Moonagoona linnet,big as an eagle, and you 'ave to plug yer ears when it sings. Thenthere's the Moonagoona beetle, wot'll swallow a lamb 'ole, an' then situp an' beg for the mint-sauce.

  "We got eels that big that yer wouldn't believe it. We once caught aeel at Moonagoona, and it pulled an' pulled so, that 'fore long we'dgot the 'ole bloomin' population on the end o' the rope. We 'auled inmiles of it, an' presently we see comin' along the river a crowd o'people; they was the in'abitants of Gumbacooe, the next town. They'dcaught the other end o' the eel, wot 'ad two 'eads, an' we wasa-'aulin' of 'em as well as Mister Eel. Moonagoona's the place to seethings.

  "I been very 'appy this evenin'," proceeded Bindle, "so's Reggie. Noone would know yer was gents, yer behave so nicely." Bindle grinnedbroadly as he raised his glass. "Well, 'ere's to us, mates," he cried.

  With a roar the company once more sprang to its feet and, assisted bybells, rattles, whistles, a tray, a phonograph which played "You MadeMe Love You," combs and mouth-organs, sang in various keys, "For He's aJolly Good Fellow."

  Bindle was at that moment the most popular man in Oxford. He was oneof the greatest successes that Bungem's had ever known. He was hoistedon brawny shoulders and borne in triumph round the room. In his handhe held a finger-bowl full of champagne, the contents of which sloppedover the heads and persons of his bearers at every step.

  "If only 'Earty could see me now," he murmured happily. "These chaps'ud make a man of 'Earty 'fore 'e knew it. Leggo my leg!" he yelledsuddenly, as one enthusiast seized his right leg
and strove to divertthe procession from its course. "You funny 'Uggins, you! Think I'mmade o' rubber? Leggo!"

  Too excited for mere words to penetrate to his brain, the youthcontinued to pull, and Bindle poured the rest of the champagne over hisupturned face. With a yelp the youth released Bindle's leg.

  In the excitement that followed Bindle's speech Graves saw hisopportunity. Guggers' eye was momentarily off him and he slippedtowards the door unnoticed. He had almost reached safety when Bindle,who was the first to observe the manoeuvre, uttered a yell.

  "Stop 'im! stop 'im! 'Ere, let me down," he shouted, and by poundingon the head of one of his bearers with the finger-bowl and with a kickthat found the stomach of another, he disengaged himself.

  Bindle's cry had attracted general attention to Graves, but too late tostop him. With a bound he reached the door and tore down the stairs.

  "After him, you chaps," cried Guggers, and with yells and cries rangingfrom "Tally-ho!" to the "Bushmen's war-cry" the whole company streamedout of Bungem's and tore down "the High" in hot pursuit.

  That night those who were late out beheld the strange sight of awhite-faced man in evening-dress running apparently for his life,pursued by a pack of some two hundred other men similarly garbed anduttering the most horrible shouts and threats. Windows were thrown upand heads thrust out, and all wondered what could be the meaning ofwhat the oldest, and consequently longest-suffering, townsmansubsequently described as defying even his recollection.

  Late that night the porter at St. Joseph's was aroused by a furiousringing of the bell, accompanied by a tremendous pounding at the door.On the doorstep he found, to his astonishment, the dishevelled figureof Graves, sobbing for breath and sanctuary, and with terror in hiseyes. In the distance he heard a terrible outcry, which next morninghe was told was the Australian Bushmen's war-cry.

  IV

  Bindle was awakened next morning by a continuous hammering at hisbedroom door.

  "Who the 'oppin' robin are yer?" he shouted; "shut up and go 'ome."

  The door burst open, and Tom Little, Guggers, and Travers entered.

  "Up you gug-gug-get," cried Guggers. "You must catch the 11.6."

  "Look 'ere, ole Spit and Speak, if you're wantin' to get 'urt you're onthe right road." Bindle grinned up at Guggers impudently. "I'm astired as yer mother must be o' you."

  "Up you get, you merry wight," cried Tom Little, laughing; "there's thedevil to pay."

  "There always is, exceptin' sometimes it's a woman," remarked Bindle,yawning. "Devils are cheaper, on the 'ole. What's the trouble?"

  "The Master has invited you to lunch," broke in Travers, "and that assGravy never told us."

  "You must be recalled to town," said Tom Little, "or we shall all besent down. Now up you get."

  Bindle climbed out of bed resplendent in pyjamas with alternate broadstripes of pale blue and white.

  "'Oo's the Master? I'll lunch with anybody wot's not temperance."Bindle was sleepy.

  "It's the Master of St. Joseph's, and you've got to clear out."

  "We've sent him a letter in your name regretting that you have toreturn to town at once."

  "Oh, you 'ave, 'ave yer?" remarked Bindle drily. "I 'ope you told 'imthat I got ter call at Buckingham Palace."

  Bindle dressed, shaved, and kept his visitors amused by turn. Hecaught the 11.6, accompanied by Dick Little. The two men spent theirtime in reading the long accounts in the Oxford papers of the previousevening's "banquet." They were both full and flattering. Bindlechuckled to find that his speech had been reported verbatim, andwondered how Reggie was enjoying the biographical particulars.

  Dick Little and Bindle were unaware that in his rooms at St. Joseph'sReginald Graves also was reading these selfsame accounts with ananguish too great for expression. The accounts of his early life inparticular caused him something akin to horror.

  "It didn't last long," murmured Bindle regretfully, "but it wastop-'ole (your words, sir) while it did. I wonder 'oo's 'oldin'Reggie's 'ead this mornin'?" and he chuckled gleefully.