It was on a Wednesday morning that I repaired to the Maison Squiff and found Freddy in a well-worn blazer perusing a coroneted letter signed ‘Paunbrough,’ which he silently handed me to read. I discovered that it was a communication from the noble owner of Coffington Castle, County Down, enclosing Butler’s bill with a dirty card attached. The latter enquired in terms more direct than polite why the hot place Freddy had been distributing his father’s cards about Oxford, and stated that he, the noble Earl, was condemned if he would pay thirty shillings for a bouquet to a low ballet girl. It concluded with the final slap that Messrs. Swindell and Rooke, the family solicitors, had instructions not to pay over another monthly allowance until they received Butler’s bill receipted. This crushing communication was pointedly signed ‘Your loving father,’ and a postscript demanded the return of any more of his Lordship’s cards which Freddy might have purloined.

‘Rather rough,’ I said, ‘but you can go on for another month anyhow, yesterday was the First.’

‘Not much,’ said Freddy, ‘the governor’s sharper than you’d think to look at him, and he telegraphed to the sharks to stop my instalment yesterday.’

While we were discussing this trying situation, Mrs. Corker appeared bearing a blue envelope which she shot into my lap. It was addressed to—

and so I handed it on to Freddy, who courageously opened it. The contents proved to be merely an official confirmation of the noble lord’s own letter, which, as Freddy ruefully observed, was ‘rather like rubbing it in.’

‘Can you pay Butler for me, and then I’ll get my thirty quidlets?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t got a penny,’ I replied, ‘but can’t Squiff supply the needful?’

‘Oh! he’s worse off than we are; but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind our taking his silver candlesticks round to Ranger’s “for one night only,”’ said Frederick. ‘They ought to fetch thirty shillings, and then we shall get thirty pounds, and twenty to one are good enough odds for me.’

‘Well, at any rate,’ I said, ‘Let’s try the Pilot first, and Accrington.’

‘Whatever we do, must be done quickly,’ said Freddy, as he searched frantically for a note-book, ‘I’m in for Contracts next week, and Anson is heavy on my chest.’

‘Let’s go along to College,’ I suggested, ‘Accrington’s working day and night for his second shot at Mods., so he’s sure to be in.’

As we reached Cecil’s the Pilot emerged from the porch carrying Cook’s Commentary on Habakkuk, and three large red notebooks; he is in for Honour Theology, but as in a recent essay he explained the word Gamaliel as meaning ‘the Pavement,’ while Gabbatha became ‘the lady who died after knitting coats and garments,’ we fear he is not very far advanced. Without any preamble we demanded thirty shillings, but the Pilot, whose money affairs are in fearful confusion, explained that he had just borrowed three pounds off his tailor, and could not possibly lend us anything.

We accordingly hurried on into College, and found Accrington surveying two summonses spread out on Hawkins’ Handbook to Logic, which invaluable work he was endeavouring to learn by heart before Monday.

Freddy had just begun ‘Can you lend,’ when his eye fell upon the blue documents, and the request died upon his lips.

‘No, I’m very sorry I can’t,’ said Accrington, ‘can you?’ But nobody laughed at this; the situation was altogether too grave.

It appeared from a perusal of these documents that Messrs. Hooper, of the High, and Daniel Dickens and Co., the picture dealers, had taken out a summons signed by a certain Frank Bolton, Mandatory,—whatever that might be—which bade ‘Stephen Kirkbury Accrington appear personally or by his proctor at the Apodyterium of the Convocation House to answer the plaintiff’s claim.’

Some paragraphs on the back remarked ‘that if the debt claimed is more than six years old, that if you were then or are now a married woman, or have been discharged under the Bankruptcy Act, notice must be given three days before the hearing.’

These parting shots did not appear to give Accrington any comfort, and he said that he was trying to raise a loan from the family lawyer. We condoled with him, and then seeing clearly that there was no hope for us in that quarter, hastened back to pawn the candlesticks before Squiff’s return.

On the stairs of their digs we met Mrs. Corker, who was, as usual with her during working hours, very much out of breath, but she managed to pant at Freddy,

‘’Ave you seen Mr. O’Roozer, me lord?’

‘No,’ said Freddy, ‘has he been in?’

‘O yes, me lord,’ replied the old lady, ‘’e came in about ’arf an hour ago and asked for your lordship, ’e said as ’ow ’e wanted to see your lordship most pertickler.’

‘But about ten minutes ago,’ she continued, now in a tone of mingled wonder and indignation, ‘as I was a-goin up these ’ere stairs, I met ’im a comin’ down with them there ’andsome candlesticks under ’is harm, and when I says, “I’ll clean ’em for yer, Mr. O’Roozer, if that’s what yer wants,” ’e said, “No thank yer, Mrs. Corker, I’m afraid nothin’ what you could do wouldn’t be no use, I think I shall ’ave to soak them,” and then blessed if ’e didn’t rush out of the front door an’ get into a cab, silver candlesticks an’ all, a laughin’ most haffable.’

There might have been more of these appalling revelations to follow, but at that moment I caught sight of Freddy’s face, on which there had settled a blank look of consternation, and we marched upstairs together, much sadder if wiser men.

‘Well, what the deuce we are going to do now, I’ll be shot if I know,’ he said as we shut the door behind us. ‘Squiff’s gone and popped the only marketable commodity in the house, and there are thirty precious pounds in London simply waiting for me to send for them.’

‘I know,’ I said; ‘couldn’t Webster, your old scout in College, lend you thirty shillings for one day? I’ve been told that he runs a house at Margate, and is worth nearly five hundred a year. Some of these College servants are regular Croesuses.’

‘Yes, that’s not half a bad idea, Martha; in fact it’s about the only thing we can do; let’s go round and interview the old bird at once.’

So saying we descended the well-worn stairs again, and hurried round to see the mysterious Webster, who wears a coat like a banker, and always takes front seats at the best concerts.

The worthy man readily lent us the needful, and so that little trouble came to an end.

Misfortunes, however, never come singly, and only that evening Reggie and I and the Pilot were progged in the Hyde, and requested in the politest manner to call on the Junior Proctor at Gloucester at 9.30 next morning.

‘I suppose,’ said the Pilot, mournfully, as we moved off, ‘that this is a quid-touch, but where my adjectived quid is to come from I don’t know.’

‘Je ne sais pas, you don’t sais pas, and he doesn’t sai pas,’ quoted Reggie.

‘Freddy gets his oof to-morrow, but certainly not by nine,’ I said.

‘Then the only thing to be done is to ask the man to wait a day, and borrow the money from Freddy when he gets his cheque,’ remarked the Pilot, cheerfully.

On the following morning we dropped anchor in the Gluggins porch at 9.30, and asked for the J.P.’s rooms, which we found in the well-known row of cottages on the left of the garden, with three bull-dogs guarding the door. When our names had been taken, Reggie went in, and came out smiling after a short interview.

‘Told me to let him have it by one o’clock,’ muttered Reggie, as the Pilot passed in. ‘I said I expected a remittance from my aunt.’

In a moment the Pilot also returned looking as solemn as usual. ‘He got rather angry when I mentioned a remittance from my aunt, but let me off till one o’clock,’ he remarked.

When I was shown in, I found the J.P., a round and pompous little man, robed and banded, standing by the table.

‘I suppose, Mr. Cochrane,’ he began at once, ‘that you, like the other two gentlemen whom I have just seen, are expecting a remittance from your aunt.’

‘No, sir,’ I replied meekly, ‘my great uncle always attends to these matters, but I am certainly expecting a remittance from him.’

This soft answer, instead of turning away the dignitary’s wrath, caused him to grow purple in the face, but he controlled his temper very creditably and merely said,

‘Very well, Mr. Cochrane, I give you till one o’clock, but if the twenty shillings are not in my hands by that time I shall communicate with your Provost and make matters unpleasant for you, er—good morning.’

I joined the other two, and Reggie returned with me to breakfast, but the Pilot, who had to attend the Dean’s lecture at ten, put off his meal till eleven.

As we made our way through the buttered eggs it became more and more clear that Reggie had a grievance, and at last it came out.

‘Here am I, a working man’—this is where I coughed, but Reggie did not appear to notice it—‘with two lectures between now and lunch, both of which I am compelled to cut because an unfeeling Proctor is dunning me for a pound, which I must borrow from some one before one o’clock.’

‘Yes, it is very hard,’ I agreed. ‘But still I believe you have occasionally steeled your heart to cut a lecture even when there has been no Proctor in the background, and after all he can’t help it, it’s his business; I daresay if you knew him you’d find that he smoked a meerschaum and swore very much like other people.’

‘Yes, I know, that’s all right,’ said Reggie, who never likes to pursue an argument after he has got his own particular complaint off his chest, ‘we’ll wait for the Pilot to have his brekker and then go round to see Freddy.’

‘He’s sure to have his cheque by then,’ I said, ‘and of course he’ll lend us the wherewithal.’

The Pilot finished breakfast at 11.20 precisely, and then after carefully perusing the current society divorce case, we made our way to St. Aldate’s.

We found Freddy crouching in an arm-chair murmuring to himself passages from Anson, and instantly demanded if the money had arrived.

‘Oh, I dare say it’ll come some time to-day,’ said Freddy, crossly, and muttered to himself, ‘Agents of Necessity.’

‘That’s no earthly good,’ replied the Pilot, ‘we must find three quid by one o’clock and the oof-tree bears no fruit at this time of year.’

‘What’s the money for?’ demanded Freddy.

‘Progged in the “Shades,”’ responded Reggie laconically, ‘and you are going to pay the fine.’

‘I didn’t know it before,’ Freddy answered, ‘but of course if the money comes in time it’s yours.’

‘We must manage it somehow,’ I said, ‘when’s the next post?’

‘Ring and ask the Corker, I don’t know.’

‘Which it sometimes comes at a quarter to one, and sometimes at ’arf past,’ said the old lady on being interrogated.

When he heard this the Pilot collapsed heavily into an arm-chair, while Freddy, who did not yet fully appreciate the gravity of the situation, went upstairs to search for a note-book in the other sitting-room.

Soon after he had left the room a raucous voice was heard downstairs enquiring for Milord Gilderdale, and the Corker appeared to be engaged in an animated discussion with the owner thereof.

From two heavy thumps on the ceiling I gathered that Freddy had heard the caller’s voice and did not desire to interview him.

Mrs. Corker now appeared, and after expressing surprise at Freddy’s absence, asked me to interview, and if possible dispose of ‘that there houtrageous man in the ’all.’

On descending I found a corpulent man, with a rubicund face and no perceptible chin, standing with a sheaf of documents in his hand.

‘Good mornin’, sir,’ he said, ‘Hi come from Dopin and Bleeder’s the ’orse-dealers, and I’ve got a little bill ’ere for yer, honly a matter of fifteen pounds, as I’ll trouble you to settle.’

‘Doping and Bleeder,’ I murmured, ‘I don’t know the people.’

‘Now look ’ere, sir,’ he said with an expression which betokened sorrow rather than anger, ‘none o’ these little games, you’re Lord Gilderdale, haren’t you?’

‘Certainly not,’ I replied crossly, ‘next time perhaps you will make sure of whom you are talking to before you descend to impertinence, my man; little games indeed.’

‘Ho, then you’re the O’Roozer,’ he remarked, ‘I’ve got a bill for you for twenty-three pounds seventeen and fourpence.’

‘What’s the fourpence for?’ I queried, but by this time the portly gentleman was getting somewhat angry.

‘Never yer mind, sir, it’s for value received, hand given,’ he said, ‘an’ our Mr. Bleeder says as ’ow ’e ’opes you’ll see your way to lettin’ ’im ’ave the money this week, or ’e’ll ’ave to take proceedings, which is always most repugnant both for you and hus.’

‘Now you’ve got that off your chest, you can go,’ I said, ‘I’m not Mr. O’Rossa nor am I Lord Gilderdale. Good-day.’

But the worthy representative of Messrs. Doping and Bleeder was not so easily disposed of.

‘Now look ’ere,’ he said, ‘Hi believe that it’s hall a bloomin’ ’oax, if yer aint Wiscount Gilderdale, an’ yer hain’t the Ho Roozer ’oo the blazes are yer?’

At this stage of the proceedings I opened the door and beckoned O.P. 281, who was lounging against the wall of the Town Hall opposite, to advance.

‘I give this person into custody,’ I began, but this proved sufficient, the man from D. and B.’s had fled with unprecedented speed, and so after pouring palm oil into the ever-ready hand of the worthy officer, I went upstairs.

I found the other three gazing anxiously at the clock, which pointed to a quarter to one, and appeared to be advancing terribly quickly.

‘Hadn’t we better call a cab,’ said the Pilot; ‘supposing the oof does turn up about five to, we shall have to drive to the bank before we can go to the Proctor.’

‘Yes, my aunt, I’d never thought of that,’ said Reggie, ‘It’ll take fully another minute and a quarter, say even one and a half, and minutes are exceptionally precious just now.’

At this juncture the Corker, who was as excited as anybody, rushed breathlessly into the room and gasped, ‘The postman ’as just left Thomas,’ me lord, an’ ’e’ll be ’ere in a minute.’

‘No, by Jingo, that’s ripping,’ cried Freddy, ‘we must be getting off then,’ and as he spoke we all rushed downstairs together.

While we were picking our caps out of the collection in the hall, the Pilot, who always acts the part of Job’s comforter on these occasions, remarked slowly, ‘I say, what shall we do if the draft doesn’t come?’

‘We shan’t do anything, we shall be done,’ I said.

‘Well, anyhow, here’s the postman and we shall know our fate,’ put in Freddy running to the door, as footsteps shuffled on the pavement outside. He threw it open, and clutched a packet of letters from the hands of the postman, and then for the first time for many a long day, he fearlessly tore open a long blue envelope, extracting a letter which he dropped on the floor, and a cheque for thirty pounds, which he carefully examined.

We then got into Morgan’s hansom and drove at an alarming speed to the Bank, but to our horror we found the doors closed when we got there, and the grey-haired man, who was sweeping the steps outside, informed us, what we ought to have remembered, that the bank shuts at one o’clock on Thursdays, and it was just striking the hour on Carfax.

‘Gloucester,’ shrieked Freddy, as we bundled into the cab, and shot down the Corn at a fearful rate in the direction of Gluggins. The black clock over the archway pointed to four minutes past as we got out, I clutching the draft, while Freddy waited in the cab, discussing the prospects of the National with Morgan through the trap in the roof.

The J.P. received us with a frown, and remarked coldly, ‘Punctuality is the politeness of princes, Mr. Arlington.’

‘I am afraid we put our trust in postmen, not princes,’ replied Reggie; ‘and ours was late this morning; however, if you wouldn’t mind changing this cheque, sir, we’re ready to pay you.’

‘Really, sir, your conduct in this matter is most surprising,’ said the Proctor; ‘first you come here unpunctually, and now you offer me a large cheque on behalf of yourself and your companions, whom I am afraid are no better than you are.’

‘But the bank is closed,’ put in Reggie.

‘How do you mean the bank is closed, Mr. Arlington?’

‘It’s Thursday, sir,’ chimed in the Pilot.

‘Well, Mr. Meredith, I don’t see, if the bank closes at one o’clock, why you didn’t go there before.’

‘But Freddy’s—I mean Lord Gilderdale’s—cheque didn’t arrive till one o’clock,’ said Reggie.

‘I fail to understand what connection Lord Gilderdale has with this matter,’ said the Proctor.

‘Oh,’ said Reggie, ‘none of us had any money just at present, but we knew Gilderdale expected a cheque from his solicitors this morning, and he promised to lend us a sovereign each.’

‘Oh, then, I am really fining Lord Gilderdale for your delinquencies; this is a very fine situation, Mr. Arlington,’ said the Proctor, with a nearer approach to geniality than we had hitherto seen.

‘Well, sir, hardly that,’ I put in; ‘you see all three of us really are expecting remittances of our own as we told you this morning, but as Lord Gilderdale’s arrived before any of ours he very kindly lent us three pounds.’

‘Very well then, gentlemen,’ said the Proctor, ‘I don’t know that this arrangement is quite regular, or that it would exactly meet with the approval of the Vice-Chancellor, but after all you have produced the amount of your fines, and it is no business of mine to enquire how you obtained that amount. I am sorry to say that I believed at first that your slight unpunctuality was due to disrespect, and that you were trying to do what I believe the present generation would call “pulling my leg” over these cheques, but I see that I misjudged you, and shall ask you to bring the money at ten to-morrow. Good morning, Mr. Arlington; good morning, gentlemen, good morning,’ and so saying the little man collapsed into his arm-chair, while we departed on our way more or less rejoicing.

Freddy, to whom we communicated the result of the interview, soothed our consciences with the very plausible, if somewhat immoral, argument:

‘It don’t do to give that sort of bird too much truth all in a lump, he ain’t accustomed to it; besides, if you start bringin’ him up on it, he’ll always expect it.’

On our return to 129 St. Aldate’s we took Squiff to task severely for daring to dispose of his own silver candlesticks on the previous day; as Freddy remarked, ‘What are things coming to when a man can do as he likes with his own property?’

‘I know where things are going to,’ responded Squiff, ‘and that is to Ranger’s in Beerage Street, I’ve had a breezy time lately; thank heaven term is nearly over.’

‘Ditto, ditto,’ remarked the Pilot mournfully; ‘if one looks back at the end of any term, there always seem to be so many things which one might have done and hasn’t; and such a lot of entirely unnecessary things which have come off most successfully. When I remember that, out of 751 allotted pages of Cook’s Commentary on Habakkuk, I have read exactly 57, the hollowness of life comes upon me with crushing reality.’

‘Poor old Pilot,’ laughed Squiff, ‘he’s got “the recollections” badly.’

‘I shall shortly have “the Collections” much worse,’ replied the Pilot.

‘Thank goodness,’ remarked Reggie fervently, ‘that terminal reports are not sent home to our “parents or guardians” from this University; what awful shocks they’d get.’

‘A printed record of gate-sconces and fines during residence should be given to every one on their departure, and the number of windows broken by the future B.A. should be certified by the Provost,’ I said.

‘Or even better,’ replied the Pilot, ‘a record of theatres attended, with musical comedies marked in red, should be sent to every Dean at the end of each term, by the theatre people.’

‘Great Scott, what revelations there’d be; why, some of the most respectable people would lose their characters at once. Poor old de Beresford, who went six times to “San Toy” and seven to “Florodora,” is supposed to be a model character.’ This from Reggie.

‘Chiefly,’ I remarked, ‘because he never cuts the Dean and always pays the Treasurer “the exact amount of his battels, not requiring change,” see College Rules.’

‘If we could all acquire good reputations as easily, how happy we should be,’ murmured the Pilot pensively; ‘somehow I never have been able to get the authorities to take me seriously.’

‘You must start by taking yourself seriously,’ replied Freddy, ‘but it all shows how little our Dons really know about us. Look at old von Graussman, noisy and addicted to beer, but hard-working and conscientious. His character among the Dons is “lazy, rowdy, and conscienceless”: you know after a row he’s always sent for first. Then take, as I said before, de Beresford, or Accrington, who conceals behind a constant attendance at early chapel and a habit of going about with a logic book in his hand, the most villainous and demoniacal mind and a rooted hatred of all in authority; he’s at the bottom of most ructions in College.’

‘It’s quite true,’ I said, ‘I am afraid on the whole we’re a bad and unvirtuous lot.’

‘Looking back on the past term, I see,’ remarked the Pilot pointing out of window, ‘a blue haze over everything; I can dimly descry several theatres, three twenty-firsters, many large dinners, four Saturday nights, and a couple of outings to town; these, with a slight admixture of lectures and a row in College, constitutes the employment of most of us for the last term; one or two have had schools, but for the rest this is “le monde ou l’on s’amuse.”’

‘True, O King,’ said Squiff, ‘but I am going to turn you all out now, as I’ve got to pack. I’ve got leave to go down to-morrow: I suppose, by-the-bye, I shall see you all in town on Saturday at the Rugger Match.’

‘If not at it, at least afterwards,’ I said; ‘we’ll say the Royal Leicester for choice, I think, and supper at—?’

‘We can settle that later; you must go now,’ said Squiff hastily, and so we departed, promising to speed the O’Rossa on his way at the station. The chronicles of the Rugger Match, and what happened after it, and before it, and how we all got to it, require a fresh chapter and a new pen.

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