"Miller manages all that. I spoke to him about it after that row, but he said that Hardy had refused to subscribe to the club, said he couldn't afford it, or something of the sort. I don't see why that need matter, myself, but I suppose, as we have rules, we ought to stick to them." "It's a great pity though. I know Hardy well, and you can't think what a fine fellow he is." "I'm sure of that. I tried to know him, and we don't get on badly as speaking acquaintance. But he seems a queer, solitary bird." Twelve o'clock struck; so Tom wished the Captain good night and departed, meditating much on what he had heard and seen. The vision of terrible single combats, in which the descendant of a hundred earls polishes off the huge representative of the masses in the most finished style, without a scratch on his own aristocratic features, had faded from his mind. He went to bed that night, fairly sickened with his experience of a town and gown row, and with a nasty taste in his mouth. But he felt much pleased at having drawn out the Captain so completely. For "the stroke" was in general a man of marvellous few words, having many better uses than talking to put his breath to. Next morning he attended at the proctor's rooms at the appointed time, not without some feeling of shame at having to do so; which, however, wore off when he found some dozen men of other colleges waiting about on the same errand as himself. In his turn he was ushered in, and as he stood by the door, had time to look the great man over as he sat making a note of the case he had just disposed of. The inspection was reassuring. The proctor was a gentlemanly, straight-forward looking man of about thirty, not at all donnish, and his address answered to his appearance. "Mr. Brown, of St. Ambrose's, I think," he said. "Yes, sir." "I sent you to your college yesterday evening; did you go straight home?" "No, sir." "How was that, Mr. Brown?" Tom made no answer, and the proctor looked at him steadily for a few seconds, and then repeated. "How was that?" "Well, sir," said Tom, "I don't mean to say I was going straight to college, but I should have been in long before you sent, only I fell in with the mob again, and then there was a cry that you were coming. And so-" He paused. "Well," said the proctor, with a grim sort of curl about the corners of his mouth. "Why, I ran away, and turned into the first place which was open, and stopped till the streets were quiet." "A public house, I suppose." "Yes, sir; 'The Choughs.'" The proctor considered a minute, and again scrutinized Tom's look and manner, which certainly were straightforward, and without any tinge of cringing or insolence. "How long have you been up?" "This is my second term, sir." "You have never been sent to me before, I think?" "Never, sir."