Manor Green servant, was on the verge of saying, "I hope my mamma and papa are quite well," when he stopped himself just in time, with the thought that he was now an Oxford man, and altered his query to "All well at home, Jenkins?" They were all well, and how heartily they received him has been recorded by the faithful historian in other pages than these.
Turn we now, for a season, to a record of the sayings and doings of Verdant Green's friend, little Mr. Bouncer.
After the Warwickshire coach, with its freight of Oxford men, had driven away from the Mitre, Mr. Bouncer lingered there some little time longer in company with Mr. Smalls, Charles Larkyns, Pewter Potter, and one or two others who were gathered together in that favourite haunt, the coffee-room. They had considered that bitter beer would be an acceptable refreshment on a hot June morning; and they had, therefore, ordered the waiter to bring them a due supply. It was that same waiter, whose face resembled the interior half of a sliced muffin, who had attended upon Verdant Green and his father when they made their first appearance in Oxford, and had stayed at the Mitre. As he brought in the bitter beer, Charles Larkyns said, "I am somewhat of a connoisseur in art; but, after all, there is nothing that I admire more than this Bass' relief."
"Oh, Charley!" said little Mr. Bouncer, with a groan of anguish; "we will hope that you will do better if you are to do bitters."
The muffin-faced waiter opened the bottles of Bass, emptied their liquid amber into the various glasses, brushed some imaginary crumbs from the table, and van-
