"*
*Oh where, _and_ oh where, _was_ her Lindley Murray gone?
"Mamma, it is you for reading us," cried Edward, slapping his thigh.
"Well, then, since you can feel for a fellow, Hardie _was_ a good deal
cut up. You know the university was in a manner beaten, and he took the
blame. He never cried; that was a cracker of those fellows. But he did
give one great sob, that was all, and hung his head on one side a moment.
But then he fought out of it directly, like a man; and there was an end
of it, or ought to have been. Hang chatterboxes!"
"And what did you say to console him, Edward?" inquired Julia warmly.
"What--me? Console my senior, and my Stroke? No, thank you."
At this thunderbolt of etiquette both ladies kept their countenances this
was _their_ muscular feat that day--and the racing for the sculls came
on: six competitors. two Cambridge, three Oxford, one London. The three
heats furnished but one good race, a sharp contest between a Cambridge
man and Hardie, ending in favour of the latter; the Londoner walked away
from his opponent Sir Imperturbable's competitor was impetuous, and ran
into him in the first hundred yards; Sir I.
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