At five they got back to Oxford, and the freshman was introduced to the reading and writing rooms of the Union Society, Crawford entering his name as a probationary member, and telling him to call on Monday to pay the fee--25_s._ There was hardly time to do more than glance at the telegrams in the hall, and just look in at the numerous readers and writers in the different rooms; but the view was quite enough to enchant Frank. And then the friends parted for their respective chapels. At dinner that evening he made friends with some freshmen, with one of whom he proposed to go to St. Philip’s and St. James’ Church, for evening service. Dinner being prolonged rather beyond the usual time, they had to run pretty sharp, and even then were too late to get a seat. They accordingly began to retrace their steps, determining on future occasions, when they meant to go to either of the parish churches, to make their dinner at lunch-time, and “take their names off Hall”--_i.e._ remove their names from the list of those for whom dinner in Hall was provided--and have supper in their rooms on their return from service. As they were walking on, they were suddenly stopped by a man having the appearance of a policeman in plain clothes, who said,-- “The Proctor wants to speak to you, gentlemen.” The next moment they saw a gentleman in black gown and large velvet sleeves, who with formal politeness raised his cap and said,-- “Are you members of this University?” Frank and his friend murmured that they were. “Your names and colleges, if you please.” “Ross, of Paul’s.” “Mordaunt, of Paul’s.” “Call on me to-morrow morning at nine, if you please.” And the Proctor walked on, leaving Frank and Mordaunt rather bewildered, and totally ignorant where they were to call in the morning--for though they knew they had been “proctorized,” they did not know either the Proctor’s name or his college. The marshal (the Proctor’s head attendant; the rest being called “bull-dogs”), seeing them standing in the road in evident uncertainty, said to them,-- “You’d best go back to college, gentlemen;” and then, instinctively gathering that they were freshmen, added,-- “Where’s your caps and gowns? You’ll find the Proctor at Christ-Church, gentlemen,” and vanished with his bull-dogs after other unwary undergraduates. The interview somewhat damped their spirits: not that any fearful punishment was hanging over their heads. Even the statutable fine of five shillings for being without cap and gown would, they believed, be remitted in consideration of their being freshmen. But Frank had hoped to keep out of the way of the Proctors; and this was indeed an early beginning. CHAPTER III. THE FRESHMAN’S TERM.