n-tennis--sometimes a
canoe on the Backs--at any rate, they would either lunch or dine
together. And if they didn't--well, at any rate, Frank was there!

He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a
sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a
little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade. But it seemed
an amazing waste of company that the figure should always be alone. Why
hadn't he proposed to go with him himself? He didn't know; except, that
it certainly would not have been accepted. And yet they could have had
quite a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after a couple of
months, surely Frank would have had enough of it!

But, again--would he?... Frank seemed really in earnest about making his
living permanently; and when Frank said that he was going do a thing, he
usually did it! And Jack Kirkby did not see himself leaving his own
mother and sisters indefinitely until Frank had learned not to be a
fool.

He lit his pipe at last; and then remembered the commission with regard
to the saddle--whatever that might mean. He would stroll round presently
and talk to the porter about it ... Yes, he would go at once; and he
would just look in at Frank's rooms again. There was the hammock to
fetch, too.

But it was a dreary little visit. He went round as he was, his hands
deep in his pockets, trying to whistle between his teeth and smoke
simultaneously; and he had to hold his pipe in his hand out of respect
for rules, as he conversed with the stately Mr. Hoppett in Trinity
gateway. Mr. Hoppett knew nothing about any saddle--at least, not for
public communication--but his air of deep and diplomatic suspiciousness
belied his words.

"It's all right," said Jack pleasantly, "I had nothing to do with the
elopement. The Dean knows all about it."

"I know nothing about that, sir," said Mr. Hoppett judicially.

"Then you've not got the saddle?"

"I have not, sir."

Frank's outer door was open as Jack came to the familiar staircase, and
his heart leaped in spite of himself, as he peered in and heard
footsteps in the bedroom beyond. But it was the bed-maker with a mop,
and a disapproving countenance, who looked out presently.

"He's gone, Mrs. Jillings," said Jack.

Mrs. Jillings sniffed. She had heard tales of the auction and thought it
a very improper thing for so pleasant a young gentleman to do.

"Yes, sir."

"There isn't a saddle here, is there?"