Mr Fowler coming along; so says one to the other, ‘Let’s sell him, and make him show us over the place.’ ‘Agreed,’ answers the other. They had been keeping up all their airs, and they knew that he had seen them, so they marched boldly up to him, and making him a polite bow, says one of them, ‘Saire, I see dat you are one academic gentleman, and if you will be kind to two strangers vill you have de great goodness to show us over dis grand, dis magnificent town?’ Mr Fowler, who was born and bred in Eton, and was very proud of it, was highly delighted, and said that he would have the greatest pleasure in doing what they wished. They knew that, and so they knew when to lay it on the thickest. And so didn’t they just praise the place and the masters, and everything they saw, and a great deal they said that they had heard, till he was quite beside himself. Then they began talking Greek and Latin to him, and if he hadn’t been so pleased he would have found them out. Then they asked all sorts of questions about the school, and he promised to write out all the rules and regulations, and the whole plan on which it was conducted, and a good deal of its history, and all his own ideas about founding a school. The more inclined they found him to write, the more questions requiring answers they plied him with; and ever after they boasted of the long imposition they had set him. They gave him an address of a friend of theirs in London, and begged him to send what he had written there. He did send it, and they got it too, and they used to show his lucubrations with no little pride, and all he had said about the school. He would have been in a rage had he found them out. They asked to see one of the houses just as they were passing their own tutor’s, with whom they knew he was intimate, and they actually made him show them their own rooms. It was a wonder they were not discovered, for there on the table in one of the rooms was a wig and a false pair of moustaches. They hurried out in a great fright, saying that they did not think it was right to intrude on the privacy of any young students. At last, when they had pretty well walked Mr Fowler off his legs, and got tired themselves, they wished him good-bye, with a profusion of thanks, and betook themselves to the Christopher. They had invited him to dine with them at an hour they knew he could not come – not but what they would have been very happy to see him, but they thought the risk was too great – he might have found them out eating. They had a jolly good dinner at the Christopher, and then they paid their bill and waited till dark, when they pulled off their moustaches and beards, and put on pea-coats, slipping out unobserved, and so got back safe to their rooms. One of them told me all about it afterwards, and I couldn’t help thinking you was him, sir.”
The Squire was milch amused, and encouraged old Spankie to continue his narrations.
“Well, sir, if it wasn’t you sold Mr Fowler so cleverly, it surely was you who got up the great donkey race on the Slough road, just outside Eton.”
“Suppose it was me, or suppose it was not, just do you tell my boy here all about it. I like to hear you speak of old times,” answered the Squire.
“Well, sir, the young gentlemen got hold of two fine donkeys, and turned out in regular jockey costume, – caps, silk jackets, top boots, and all. Great swells they looked, and there was no end of boys went out to see them. The whole road was full for a mile or more. A course was formed, and off they set; but donkeys never will run when you want them, or, rather, they always will run when you don’t want them. As ill-luck would have it, who should come by but the Doctor. He wasn’t a man a bit less than the present to play a joke with. What should one of the racers do but run right against his carriage, and make the horses kick and rear, and, in spite of all the unhappy jockey could do, he couldn’t get him away. The Doctor just saw who they were, and though it may be supposed he was in a towering rage, says he quietly enough, ‘Go to your tutors and report yourselves, and come to me this evening.’ Of course they knew that they would get flogged, and so one of them provided himself with a pair of wicket-keeping gloves, and went in quite boldly. ‘It’s my duty to flog you,’ says the Doctor – ‘strip.’ ‘It’s my duty to save my skin,’ says the young gentleman, putting on his gloves quite deliberately; and when the Doctor began, he warded off all the cuts till the master grew weary. Then he handed them to his friend, who put them on and saved himself in the same way. Of course they got all the credit of being flogged, and were laughed at for their pains, till they told how they had saved themselves with their cricketing gloves.”
“Tell that story to the marines,” said the Squire. “However, I dare say some of it is true enough; but I wasn’t one of the jockeys, and I wouldn’t advise my son to imitate them either. However, old friend, I like to hear you talk of bygone days, and here’s a five shilling piece. Let my son take it out in buns and tarts when he has a mind to do so.”
“Thank ye, sir, thank ye,” said old Spankie, and the Squire walked on, knowing that he had secured another friend for Reginald. They hurried on to Windsor Castle, which had been much altered and beautified since the Squire had seen it, and certainly, rising up as it does from its richly-green forest, with its terraces and towers, it has a peculiarly handsome and regal appearance. When they got back, the boys were just coming out from two o’clock absence, and were running off to their dames’ and tutors’ houses. The Squire looked narrowly at them as they passed, to try and find the sons of any of his acquaintance who might be there. Had he written to ascertain the houses they belonged to, he would easily have discovered them. Suddenly Reginald left his father’s side, and ran after a boy whose hand he seized and wrung warmly.
“What, Warrender, are you come here?” asked his friend.
“Indeed I am,” answered Reginald; “but I had no notion that you were here, Power. How very fortunate I am to find you! But come along, I’ll introduce you to my father. He’ll want you to dine with us.”
Of course Power was nothing loth to accept the invitation. He had come up just in time, before he was too old, and had at once taken a fair standing in the school, being in the upper division of the Fourth Form, and about to go into the lower remove. He was, too, in Reginald’s own house, which was a very great satisfaction. The Squire at length found out the son of a friend of his – young Anson, and invited him to join his dinner-party at the Christopher. As he wanted to see the cricketing and boating in the afternoon, he had ordered dinner early; and, saying he might not exactly know what Eton boys of the present day liked, he had left the selection of the dishes to the landlord. A very merry party they were seated round the dinner-table at the Christopher, and ample justice did they all do to the dinner provided. The Squire wished to give the boys the best of everything, so he ordered champagne and claret.
“Wine?” said Anson, looking at Power.
The latter nodded, and with due gravity they hobnobbed together, tossing off the sparkling contents of their tall glasses.
“Very good wine they give at the Christopher,” observed Anson to the Squire; “in my opinion, this Château Margaux claret is about as first-rate tipple as one finds anywhere.”
“I fancied their Lafitte was better, and ordered it accordingly,” answered the Squire, much amused at his young friend’s remarks.
“Oh, certainly, I am very glad of that,” quickly replied Anson. “The fact is, I had not tasted their Lafitte, and supposed that they could have nothing better than their Château Margaux.”
“Try this, then,” said the Squire, pushing a bottle of freshly-decanted claret towards him; “say what you think of it.”
“Perfect nectar,” answered the young gentleman, smacking his lips. “This beats the other hollow. I must row mine host for not giving us his best wine the last time I dined with my uncle here.”
“We were not so particular in my days,” observed the Squire; “good honest port and sherry sufficed us. But I tell you what, lads, stick to the light wines, and a moderate quantity of them will do you no harm; but eschew spirits-and-water, or spirits in any shape, as you would poison, and when you drink beer, don’t go swilling away huge quantities, as I see some fellows doing, as if their insides were mere tuns made to
