Searle, "so that I may see
as many college-walls as possible."

"You know," I asked of our attendant, "all these wonderful ins and
outs?"

"I ought to, sir," he said, after a moment, with pregnant gravity. And
as we were passing one of the colleges, "That used to be my place," he
added.

At these words Searle desired him to stop and come round within sight.
"You say that's YOUR college?"

"The place might deny me, sir; but heaven forbid I should seem to take
it ill of her. If you'll allow me to wheel you into the quad I'll show
you my windows of thirty years ago."

Searle sat staring, his huge pale eyes, which now left nothing else
worth mentioning in his wasted face, filled with wonder and pity. "If
you'll be so kind," he said with great deference. But just as this
perverted product of a liberal education was about to propel him across
the threshold of the court he turned about, disengaged the mercenary
hands, with one of his own, from the back of the chair, drew their owner
alongside and turned to me. "While we're here, my dear fellow," he said,
"be so good as to perform this service. You understand?" I gave our
companion a glance of intelligence and we resumed our way. The latter
showed us his window of the better time, where a rosy youth in a scarlet
smoking-fez now puffed a cigarette at the open casement. Thence we
proceeded into the small garden, the smallest, I believe, and certainly
the sweetest, of all the planted places of Oxford. I pushed the chair
along to a bench on the lawn, turned it round, toward the front of
the college and sat down by it on the grass. Our attendant shifted
mournfully from one foot to the other, his patron eyeing him
open-mouthed. At length Searle broke out: "God bless my soul, sir, you
don't suppose I expect you to stand! There's an empty bench."

"Thank you," said our friend, who bent his joints to sit.

"You English are really fabulous! I don't know whether I most admire or
most abominate you! Now tell me: who are you? what are you? what brought
you to this?"

The poor fellow blushed up to his eyes, took off his hat and wiped his
forehead with an indescribable fabric drawn from his pocket. "My name's
Rawson, sir. Beyond that it's a long story."

"I ask out of sympathy," said Searle. "I've a fellow-feeling. If you're
a poor devil I'm a poor devil as well."

"I'm the poorer devil of the two," said the stranger with an assurance
for once presumptuous.

"Possibly. I suppos