‘One or two class-prizes,’ replied the student, his eyes on the ground.  ‘Shall we walk to my lodgings?’

’I thought you might like to walk me over the show.  But pr’aps you’re in a ‘urry?’

’No, no.  But there’s nothing particular to see.  I think the lecture-rooms are closed by now.’

‘Oo’s the gent as stands there?—­the figger, I mean.’

‘Sir Job Whitelaw, founder of the College.’

‘Job, eh?  And was you a-goin’ ‘ome to yer tea, Godwin?’

‘Yes.’

’Well, then, look ’ere, ’spose we go to the little shop opposyte—­ nice little plyce it looks.  I could do a cup o’ tea myself, and we can ’ev a quite confab.  It’s a long time since we’ed a talk together.  I come over from Twybridge this mornin’; slep’ there last night, and saw yer mother an’ Oliver.  They couldn’t give me a bed, but that didn’t mike no matter; I put up at the Norfolk Harms—­ five-an-six for bed an’ breakfast.  Come along, my bo-oy; I stand treat.’

Godwin glanced about him.  From the College was approaching what seemed to be a formal procession; it consisted of Bruno Chilvers, supported on either hand by ladies and followed by an admiring train.

‘You had better come to my lodgings with me, uncle,’ said the young man hurriedly, moving forward.

’No, no; I won’t be no expense to you, Godwin, bo-oy.  And I ’ave a reason for wantin’ to go to the little shop opposyte.’

Already several collegians had passed, giving Peak a nod and scanning his companion; a moment’s delay and Chilvers would be upon him.  Without another word, Godwin moved across the broad street to the place of refreshment which his uncle had indicated, and whither Earwaker had preceded them.  It was a pastry-cook’s, occasionally visited by the alumni of Whitelaw.  In the rear of the shop a little room offered seats and tables, and here, Godwin knew, Earwaker would be found.

‘Let us go up-stairs,’ he said, leading to a side entrance.  ’There’s a quieter room.’

‘Right you are!’

The uncle—­his name was Andrew Peak—­paused to make a survey of the premises.  When he entered, his scrutiny of the establishment was close, and he seemed to reflect with interest upon all he saw.  The upper room was empty; a long table exhibited knives and forks, but there were no signs of active business.  Andrew pulled a bell-rope; the summons was answered by an asthmatic woman, who received an order for tea, toast, ‘watercreases’, and sundry other constituents of a modest meal.

’Come ‘ere often, Godwin?’ inquired Andrew, as he stood by the window and mused.

‘Now and then, for a bun.’

‘Much custom from your show over the wye?’

‘Not so much as a better place would have.’

‘Young gents don’t live at the Collige, they tell me?’

‘No, there’s no residence.’

’So naturally they want a plyce where they can ’ev a nibble, somewheres ‘andy?’