Both at school and at
Oxford, Eustace had been--if not a sport--at least a decidedly cheery
old bean. Sam remembered Eustace at school breaking gas globes with a
slipper in a positively rollicking manner. He remembered him at Oxford
playing up to him manfully at the piano on the occasion when he had
done that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been such a hit at the
Trinity smoker. Yes, Eustace had had the makings of a pretty sound egg,
and it was too bad that he had allowed his mother to coop him up down
in the country miles away from anywhere.
"Eustace is returning to England on Saturday," said Mrs. Hignett. She
spoke a little wistfully. She had not been parted from her son since he
had come down from Oxford; and she would have liked to keep him with
her till the end of her lecturing tour. That, however, was out of the
question. It was imperative that, while she was away, he should be at
Windles. Nothing would have induced her to leave the place at the
mercy of servants who might trample over the flower-beds, scratch the
polished floors, and forget to cover up the canary at night.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25