Tired of the howling and the horse-play, tired of the fretful fireworks, he turned into Venner’s just before ten o’clock.
“Why aren’t you with your friends, making a noise?” asked Venner.
“Ought to go home and work,” Michael explained.
“But surely you can take one night off. You used always to be well to the fore on these occasions.”
“You mustn’t work too hard, you know,” said the old man, blinking kindly at him.
“Why, what a thing to say. Hark! They’re having a rare time to-night. I don’t expect the dons’ll say much. They expect a bit of noise after a bump-supper. Why ever don’t you go out and do your share?”
Venner was ready to go home, and Michael leaving the little office in his company paused irresolutely in Cloisters for a moment. It was no good. He could not bring himself to be flung into that vortex of ululation. He turned away from its direction and walked with Venner to the lodge.
“Don’t forget to mark me down as out of college, Shadbolt,” he warned the porter. “I don’t want to be hauled to-morrow morning for damage done in my absence.”
The porter held up his hand in unctuous deprecation.
“There is no fear of my making a mistake, Mr. Fane. I was observing your egress, sir,” he said pompously, “and had it registered in my book before you spoke.”
Shadbolt unlocked the door for Michael and Venner to pass out into the High. Michael walked with Venner as far as St. Mary’s bridge, and when the old man had said good night and departed on his way home, he stood for a while watching the tower in the May moonlight. He could hear the shouts of those doing honor to the prowess of the Eight. From time to time the sky was stained with blue and green and red from the Roman candles. To himself standing here now he seemed as remote from it all as the townsfolk loitering on the bridge in the balmy night air to listen to the fun. Already, thought Michael, he was one of the people, small as emmets, swarming at the base of this slim and lovely tower. He regretted sharply now that he had not once more, even from distant St. Giles, roused himself to salute from the throbbing summit May Morning. It was melancholy to stand here within the rumor of the communal joy, but outside its participation; and presently he started to walk quickly back to his digs, telling himself with dreadful warning as he went that before Schools now remained scarcely more than a week.