This short and pithy dialogue took place in Drysdale's rooms one evening soon after the conversation recorded in the last chapter. He and Tom were sitting alone there, for a wonder, and so the latter seized the occasion to propound this question, which he had had on his mind for some time. He was scarcely satisfied with the above rejoinder, but while he was thinking how to come at the subject by another road, Drysdale opened a morocco fly-book, and poured its contents on the table, which was already covered with flies of all sorts and patterns, hanks of gut, delicate made-up casts, reels, minnows, and tackle enough to kill all the fish in the four neighboring counties. Tom began turning them over and scrutinizing the dressings of the flies. "It has been so mild, the fish must be in season don't you think? Besides, if they're not, it's a jolly drive to Fairford at any rate. You've never been behind my team Brown. You'd better come, now, to-morrow." "I can't cut my two lectures." "Bother your lectures! Put on an aeger, then." "No! that doesn't suit my book, you know." "I can't see why you should be so cursedly particular. Well, if you won't, you won't; I know that well enough. But what cast shall you fish with to-morrow?" "How many flies do you use?" "Sometimes two, sometimes three." "Two's enough, I think; all depends on the weather; but, if it's at all like today, you can't do better, I should think, than the old March brown and a palmer to begin with. Then, for change, this hare's ear, and an alder fly, perhaps; or,--let me see," and he began searching the glittering heap to select a color to go with the dull hare's ear. "Isn't it early for the alder?" said Drysdale. "Rather, perhaps; but they can't resist it." "These bang-tailed little sinners any good?" said Drysdale, throwing some cock-a-bondies across the table. "Yes; I never like to be without them, and a governor or two. Here, this is a well-tied lot," said Tom, picking out half a-dozen. "You never know when you may not kill with either of them. But I don't know the Fairford water; so my opinion isn't worth much." Tom soon returned to the old topic. "But now, Drysdale, you must know what a servitor is." "Why should I? Do you mean one of our college servitors?" "Yes?" "Oh, something in the upper-servant line. I should put him above the porter, and below the cook, and butler. He does the don's dirty work, and gets their broken victuals, and I believe he pays no college fees." Tom rather drew into himself at this insolent and offhand definition. He was astonished and hurt at the tone of his friend. However, presently, he resolved to go through with it, and began again. "But servitors are gentlemen, I suppose?" "A good deal of the cock-tail about them, I should think. But I have not the honor of any acquaintance amongst them." "At any rate, they are undergraduates, are not they?" "Yes." "And may take degrees, just like you or me?"