seen to alight a small
man, dressed in a black-and-white check suit, with a pale grey homburg
hat adorned with a white puggaree, a Ted tie, patent boots, and white
spats. Over his left arm he carried a light dust-coat, and in his hand
a gold-mounted malacca cane with a broad gold band. In the right hand
was an enormous cigar adorned with a red-and-gold band.

It was Bindle.

"That's him," cried a hundred voices.

"Good old Josh!"

"What price wallabys?"

"Where's your lady friend?" and other irrelevant remarks were hurled
from all quarters.

The "cinematograph-men" turned their handles. The "newspaper-men"
swarmed down upon Bindle and levelled their cameras from every possible
angle. Graves was hastened to the spot where Bindle was endeavouring
to avoid looking into the barrel of a huge "camera."

Men hit him on the back, poked him in the ribs, shouted their welcomes
and generally cheer-oh'd him.

After a desperate effort Tom Little fought his way through the crowd,
followed by Travers and Guggers dragging the reluctant Graves.
Suddenly Tom Little jumped up on Guggers' back.

"Mr. Josiah Williams, we welcome you to Oxford, we, the men of St.
Joseph's."

Bindle looked at the laughing faces and remarked, "And very nice, too.
Cheer-oh the lot!"

"This," continued Tom Little, when a space had been cleared, largely
due to Guggers' magnificent tackling, "this is your distinguished
nephew, Reginald Graves, whom to know is to love."

The unhappy Graves was dragged forward. Bindle extended two fingers of
his left hand.

"So you're Polly's boy?"

Graves started. His mother's name had been Mary Williams, and his
father had always called her Polly. Was he dreaming, or could it be
possible that it was all true, and that fame and fortune were before
him? A brother of his mother's had gone to Australia when quite a
little lad. He was roused from his reverie by somebody shouting:

"Say how-d'ye-do to uncle," and he found himself clasping Bindle's two
fingers with a warmth that surprised himself.

He looked round him. There was a dense crowd waving flags, and all in
honour of this man who greeted him as nephew. A new prospect opened
itself to his bewildered brain. If only it prove to be true!

"Now, come along, Mr. Williams." It was Tom Little's voice again that
broke in upon his thoughts. "We've got a carriage waiting for you."

Travers had slipped out and found the band split up into three groups.