not telling my father and all, so I left Cyril down at Folly Bridge to watch our things and make certain Jabez didn’t rent the boat out from under us which he’s done on more than one occasion, including that time Rushforth’s sister was up for Eights, even with a deposit, and legged it up St. Aldate’s. I could see I was going to be late, so when I got to Pembroke, I hailed a hansom. I only had enough for the balance of the boat, but I was counting on the agèd relicts anteing up. Only he’d got the trains mixed and I can’t draw against my next quarter allowance because I put it all on Beefsteak in the Derby, and Jabez for some reason refuses to extend credit to undergraduates. So here I am, stuck like Mariana in the South, and there’s Cyril, ‘like patience on a monument, smiling at grief,’ ” He looked at me expectantly.
And, oddly enough, though this was far worse than the jumble sales and I’d only understood about one word in three and none of the literary allusions, I’d got the gist of what he was saying: he didn’t have enough money for the boat.
And of what it meant: he definitely wasn’t my contact. He was only a penniless undergraduate. Or one of Auntie’s “ruffians” who hung about railway stations engaging people in conversation and trying to borrow money. Or worse.
“Hasn’t Cyril any money?” I asked.
“Lord, no,” he said, stretching out his legs. “He never has a shilling. So I was wondering, since you were planning to go on the river and so were we, if we mightn’t combine resources, like Speke and Burton, only of course the sources of the Thames have already been discovered, and we wouldn’t be going upriver, at any rate. And there won’t be any savage natives or tsetse flies or things. Cyril and I wondered if you’d like to go on the river with us.”
“Three men in a boat,” I murmured, wishing he were my contact. Three Men in a Boat has always been one of my favorite books, especially the chapter where Harris gets lost in Hampton Court Maze.
“Cyril and I are going downriver,” Terence was saying. “We were thinking of taking a leisurely trip down to Muchings End, but we could stop anywhere you’d like. There are some nice ruins at Abingdon. Cyril loves ruins. Or there’s Bisham Abbey, where Anne of Cleves waited out the divorce. Or if you had in mind simply drifting along, enjoying the ‘current that with gentle murmur glides,’ we could simply drift.”
I wasn’t listening. Muchings End, he’d said, and I knew as soon as I heard it, it was the name I’d been trying to remember. “Contact someone,” he’d said, and this was clearly the someone. His references to the river and my physician’s orders, his crooked mustache and identical blazer, couldn’t all be coincidences.
I wondered why he didn’t simply tell me who he was, though. There was no one else on the platform. I looked in the station window, trying to see if the station agent was eavesdropping, but I couldn’t see anything. Or perhaps he was just being cautious in case I wasn’t the right person.
I said, “I’m—” and the station door opened, and a portly middle-aged man wearing a bowler and a handlebar mustache came out. He tipped the bowler, grunted something undistinguishable, and went over to the notice board.
“I should like very much to go with you to Muchings End,” emphasizing the last two words. “A trip on the river will be a restful change from Coventry.”
I fished in my trouser pocket, trying to remember what Finch had done with the purse full of money. “How much do you need for the hire of the boat?”
“Sicksunthree,” he said. “That’s for a week’s hire. I’ve already put noin bob down.”
The purse was in my blazer pocket. “I’m not certain if I brought enough with me,” I said, tipping the bank note and coins out in my hand.
“There’s enough there to buy the boat,” Terence said. “Or the Koh-i-noor. This your kit?” he said,
And, oddly enough, though this was far worse than the jumble sales and I’d only understood about one word in three and none of the literary allusions, I’d got the gist of what he was saying: he didn’t have enough money for the boat.
And of what it meant: he definitely wasn’t my contact. He was only a penniless undergraduate. Or one of Auntie’s “ruffians” who hung about railway stations engaging people in conversation and trying to borrow money. Or worse.
“Hasn’t Cyril any money?” I asked.
“Lord, no,” he said, stretching out his legs. “He never has a shilling. So I was wondering, since you were planning to go on the river and so were we, if we mightn’t combine resources, like Speke and Burton, only of course the sources of the Thames have already been discovered, and we wouldn’t be going upriver, at any rate. And there won’t be any savage natives or tsetse flies or things. Cyril and I wondered if you’d like to go on the river with us.”
“Three men in a boat,” I murmured, wishing he were my contact. Three Men in a Boat has always been one of my favorite books, especially the chapter where Harris gets lost in Hampton Court Maze.
“Cyril and I are going downriver,” Terence was saying. “We were thinking of taking a leisurely trip down to Muchings End, but we could stop anywhere you’d like. There are some nice ruins at Abingdon. Cyril loves ruins. Or there’s Bisham Abbey, where Anne of Cleves waited out the divorce. Or if you had in mind simply drifting along, enjoying the ‘current that with gentle murmur glides,’ we could simply drift.”
I wasn’t listening. Muchings End, he’d said, and I knew as soon as I heard it, it was the name I’d been trying to remember. “Contact someone,” he’d said, and this was clearly the someone. His references to the river and my physician’s orders, his crooked mustache and identical blazer, couldn’t all be coincidences.
I wondered why he didn’t simply tell me who he was, though. There was no one else on the platform. I looked in the station window, trying to see if the station agent was eavesdropping, but I couldn’t see anything. Or perhaps he was just being cautious in case I wasn’t the right person.
I said, “I’m—” and the station door opened, and a portly middle-aged man wearing a bowler and a handlebar mustache came out. He tipped the bowler, grunted something undistinguishable, and went over to the notice board.
“I should like very much to go with you to Muchings End,” emphasizing the last two words. “A trip on the river will be a restful change from Coventry.”
I fished in my trouser pocket, trying to remember what Finch had done with the purse full of money. “How much do you need for the hire of the boat?”
“Sicksunthree,” he said. “That’s for a week’s hire. I’ve already put noin bob down.”
The purse was in my blazer pocket. “I’m not certain if I brought enough with me,” I said, tipping the bank note and coins out in my hand.
“There’s enough there to buy the boat,” Terence said. “Or the Koh-i-noor. This your kit?” he said,
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