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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
253
“Well,
really,
Warden,”
he
said,
“we--we
hardly
know,”
*
and
he
ended
with
what
can
only
be
described
as
a
giggle.
He
fell
low
in
the
esteem
of
his
fellows.
*Those
of
my
readers
who
are
interested
in
athletic
sports
will
remember
the
long
controversy
that
raged
as
to
whether
Judas
had
actually
bumped
Magdalen;
and
they
will
not
need
to
be
minded
that
it
was
mainly
through
the
evidence
of
Mr.
E.
T.
A.
Cook,
who
had
been
on
the
towing-path
at
the
time,
that
the
O.
U.
B.
C.
decided
the
point
in
Judas’
favour,
and
fixed
the
order
of
the
boats
for
the
following
year
accordingly.
Thinking
of
that
past
Sub-Warden
whose
fame
was
linked
with
the
sun-dial,
the
Warden
eyed
this
one
keenly.
“Well,
gentlemen,”
he
presently
said,
“our
young
men
seem
to
be
already
at
table.
Shall
we
follow
their
example?”
And
he
led
the
way
up
the
steps.
Already
at
table?
The
dons’
dubiety
toyed
with
this
hypothesis.
But
the
aspect
of
the
Hall’s
interior
was
hard
to
explain
away.
Here
were
the
three
long
tables,
stretching
white
towards
the
dais,
and
laden
with
the
usual
crockery
and
cutlery,
and
with
pots
of
flowers
in
honour
of
the
occasion.
And
here,
ranged
along
either
wall,
was
the
usual
array
of
scouts,
motionless,
with
napkins
across
their
arms.
But
that
was
all.
It
became
clear
to
the
Warden
that
some
organised
prank
or
protest
was
afoot.
Dignity
required
that
he
should
take
no
heed
whatsoever.
Looking
neither
to
the
right
nor
to
the
left,
stately
he
approached
the
dais,
his
Fellows
to
heel.
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