"No, I was not tight," Peter snapped. "Look here, Marbury," he continued, "this wasn't a picnic. It was damn serious." "Serious?" "It was a protest." "This is interesting," said Marbury. "What was it about?" "It was a protest," Peter declared with high dignity, "against the censorship of stage plays." Marbury looked at Peter for a moment. Then went into peals of laughter. Peter looked at him intending to kill. "Don't be angry, Peter. I don't often laugh. But this is funny." "I don't agree with you." "Peter, dear boy, come away from your golden throne." Marbury smoothed his face. "I suppose this means you're going down for good." "Thank Heaven for that!" "Look me up in London. I'm going down myself next term." "Sick of it?" asked Peter. "Not at all. But my uncle is far from well, and I'm next man on the estate. I have just been seeing the lawyers." "We're going different ways, Marbury." "Stuff." "I'm in the other camp," Peter insisted. "Very well," said Marbury cheerfully; "when you're tired of the other camp remember you've a friend outside. Good-bye, and good-luck." Peter could not resist Marbury's good temper. He was beginning to feel in the wrong. "Marbury," he said, "why am I always rude?" Marbury smiled into Peter's lighted face: "You were born younger than most of us. Meantime, your train is moving." Peter scrambled into a passing carriage, and Marbury threw his luggage in at the window. Peter waved him a friendly farewell, and retired to reflect upon his inveterate want of grace. Marbury looked after the train in smiling meditation. He expected to see Peter within the year. He rather enjoyed the prospect of Peter loose among the intellectuals of London. He knew what these people were like. XIX Uncle Henry was at first inclined to be angry when Peter appeared for the second time a banished man. Peter wisely forebore trying to explain the motive of his riot. "The fact is, Uncle, I have had enough of Oxford," he said. "Oxford seems to have had enough of you," his uncle grumbled. "I told you to get education." "There isn't any education at Oxford. It's in London now." "What will you do in London?" "I could read for the bar," Peter suggested. "Alone in London, eh? I don't think so. You want a nursemaid." "Let the mater come and keep house." Uncle Henry reflected. "Peter," he said, "keep out of the police court. I draw the line at that." "I shall be all right in London. Oxford annoyed me, Uncle." "Very well. I leave it to your mother." Peter's mother agreed to come to London and manage a small flat. "I shall just love to have you, mother," Peter said to her when the plans were laid. "I wonder?" she said, searching his face. "You're not worried about this Oxford mess?" "I'm thinking, Peter. You're so terribly impatient." Peter himself hunted out the flat and furnished it. "Let him handle a bit of money," his uncle suggested.