voice that came in faltering tones that jarred the brain at every
word! How he despised himself; how he loathed the very idea of wine;
how he resolved never, never to transgress so again! But perhaps Mr.
Verdant Green was not the only Oxford freshman who has made this
resolution.

"Bain't you well, sir?" repeated Mr. Filcher, with a passing thought
that freshmen were sadly degenerating, and could


[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 79]

not manage their three bottles as they did when he was first a scout:
"bain't you well, sir?"

"Not very well, Robert, thank you. I - my head aches, and I'm afraid
I shall not be able to get up for chapel. Will the Master be very
angry?"

"Well, he ~might~ be, you see, sir," replied Mr. Filcher, who never
lost an opportunity of making anything out of his master's
infirmities; "but if you'll leave it to me, sir, I'll make it all
right for you, ~I~ will. Of course you'd like to take out an
~aeger~, sir; and I can bring you your Commons just the same. Will
that do, sir?".

"Oh, thank you; yes, any thing. You will find five shillings in my
waistcoat-pocket, Robert; please to take it; but I can't eat."

"Thank'ee, sir," said the scout, as he abstracted the five shillings;