"Never mind the dog, sir," said the gentleman who sat between Mr.
Bouncer and Mr. Green; "he won't hurt you. It's only his play; he
always takes notice of strangers."

"But he is tearing my trousers," expostulated Mr. Green, who was by
no means partial to the "play" of a thoroughbred terrier.

"Ah! he's an uncommon sensible dog," observed his master; "he's
always on the look-out for rats everywhere. It's the Wellington
boots that does it; he's accustomed to have a rat put into a boot,
and he worries it out how he can. I daresay he thinks you've got one
in yours."

"But I've got nothing of the sort, sir; I must request you to keep
your dog--" A violent fit of coughing, caused by a well-directed
volley of smoke from his neighbour's lips, put a stop to Mr. Green's
expostulations.

"I hope my weed is no annoyance?" said the gentleman; "if it is, I
will throw it away."


[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 27]

To which piece of politeness Mr. Green could, of course, only reply,
between fits of coughing, "Not in the least I - assure you, - I am
very fond - of tobacco - in the open air."

"Then I daresay you'll do as we are doing, and smoke a weed
yourself," said the gentleman, as he offered Mr. Green a plethoric