"And you, too, sir--" he added turning to the vicar.

But the old clergyman cut him short, being himself rather uncertain about the throat.
"Good-bye, my lad.

God bless you.

We shall hear of you soon--showing them what you can do with your Alcaics--Good-bye." So John got into the dogcart and was driven off by the ancient Reynolds--past the "Duke's Head," past the "Feathers," past the churchyard and the croft--the "croat," they called it in Billingsfield--and on by the windmill on the heath, a hideous bit of grassless common euphemistically so named, and so out to the high-road towards the railway station, feeling very miserable indeed.

It is a curious fact, too, in the history of his psychology that in proportion as he got farther from the vicarage he thought more and more of his old tutor and less and less of his unfinished dream, and he realised painfully that the vicar was nearly the only friend he had in the world.
He would of course find Cornelius Angleside at Cambridge, but he suspected that Cornelius, turned loose among a merry band of undergraduates of his own position would be a very different person from the idle youth he had known at Billingsfield, trembling in the intervals of his idleness at the awful prospect of the entrance examination, and frantically attempting to master some bit of stray knowledge which might possibly be useful to him.