The Castle Inn | Page 8

world; but not to the pitch that persons entering
Pembroke College hastened to pay reverence to the second floor over
the gateway, which he had vacated thirty years earlier--as persons do
now. Their gaze, as a rule, rose no higher than the first-floor oriel,
where the shapely white shoulder of a Parian statue, enhanced by a
background of dark-blue silken hanging, caught the wandering eye.
What this lacked of luxury and mystery was made up--almost to the
Medmenham point in the eyes of the city--by the gleam of girandoles,
and the glow, rather felt than seen, of Titian-copies in Florence frames.
Sir George, borne along in his chair, peered up at this well-known
window--well-known, since in the Oxford of 1767 a man's rooms were
furnished if he had tables and chairs, store of beef and October, an
apple-pie and Common Room port--and seeing the casement brilliantly
lighted, smiled a trifle contemptuously.
'The Reverend Frederick is not much changed,' he muttered. 'Lord,
what a beast it was! And how we hazed him! Ah! At home, is he?'--this
to the servant, as the man lifted the head of the chair. 'Yes, I will go up.'
To tell the truth, the Reverend Frederick Thomasson had so keen a
scent for Gold Tufts or aught akin to them, that it would have been
strange if the instinct had not kept him at home; as a magnet, though
unseen, attracts the needle. The same prepossession brought him, as
soon as he heard of his visitor's approach, hurrying to the head of the
stairs; where, if he had had his way, he would have clasped the baronet
in his arms, slobbered over him, after the mode of Paris--for that was a
trick of his--and perhaps even wept on his shoulder. But Soane, who
knew his ways, coolly defeated the manoeuvre by fending him off with
his cane; and the Reverend Frederick was reduced to raising his eyes
and hands to heaven in token of the joy which filled him at the sight of
his old pupil.

'Lord! Sir George, I am inexpressibly happy!' he cried. 'My dear sir, my
very dear sir, welcome to my poor rooms! This is joy indeed!
Gaudeamus! Gaudeamus! To see you once more, fresh from the groves
of Arthur's and the scenes of your triumphs! Pardon me, my dear sir, I
must and will shake you by the hand again!' And succeeding at last in
seizing Sir George's hand, he fondled and patted it in both of
his--which were fat and white--the while with every mark of emotion
he led him into the room.
'Gad!' said Sir George, standing and looking round. 'And where is she,
Tommy?'
'That old name! What a pleasure it is to hear it!' cried the tutor,
affecting to touch his eyes with the corner of a dainty handkerchief; as
if the gratification he mentioned were too much for his feelings.
'But, seriously, Tommy, where is she?' Soane persisted, still looking
round with a grin.
'My dear Sir George! My honoured friend! But you would always have
your joke.'
'And, plainly, Tommy, is all this frippery yours?'
'Tut, tut!' Mr. Thomasson remonstrated. 'And no man with a finer taste.
I have heard Mr. Walpole say that with a little training no man would
excel Sir George Soane as a connoisseur. An exquisite eye! A nice
discrimination! A--'
'Now, Tommy, to how many people have you said that?' Sir George
retorted, dropping into a chair, and coolly staring about him. 'But, there,
have done, and tell me about yourself. Who is the last sprig of nobility
you have been training in the way it should grow?'
'The last pupil who honoured me,' the Reverend Frederick answered, 'as
you are so kind as to ask after my poor concerns, Sir George, was my
Lord E----'s son. We went to Paris, Marseilles, Genoa, Florence; visited
the mighty monuments of Rome, and came home by way of Venice,

Milan, and Turin. I treasure the copy of Tintoretto which you see there,
and these bronzes, as memorials of my lord's munificence. I brought
them back with me.'
'And what did my lord's son bring back?' Sir George asked, cruelly. 'A
Midianitish woman?'
'My honoured friend!' Mr. Thomasson remonstrated. 'But your wit was
always mordant--mordant! Too keen for us poor folk!'
'D'ye remember the inn at Cologne, Tommy?' Sir George continued,
mischievously reminiscent. 'And Lord Tony arriving with his charmer?
And you giving up your room to her? And the trick we played you at
Calais, where we passed the little French dancer on you for Madame la
Marquise de Personne?'
Mr. Thomasson winced, and a tinge of colour rose in his fat pale face.
'Boys, boys!' he said, with an airy gesture. 'You had an uncommon
fancy even then, Sir George, though you were