Jack wheeled and went out of the room.

* * * * *

It was a miserable breakfast to which he sat down half an hour later—­still in flannels, and without his bath.  Frank’s place was laid, in accordance with the instructions he had given his landlady last night, and he had not the heart to push the things aside.  There were soles for two, and four boiled eggs; there was coffee and marmalade and toast and rolls and fruit; and the comfortable appearance of the table simply mocked him.

He had had very confused ideas just now as to what was possible with regard to the pursuit of Frank; a general vision of twenty motor-cars, each with a keen-eyed chauffeur and an observant policeman, was all that had presented itself to his imagination; but he had begun to realize by now that you cannot, after all, abduct a young man who has committed no crime, and carry him back unwillingly, even to Cambridge!  Neither the Dean of Trinity nor a father possesses quite unlimited power over the freedom of a pupil and a son.  And, after all, Frank had only taken his father at his word!

These reflections, however, did not improve the situation.  He felt quite certain, in theory, that something more could be done than feebly to send another telegram or two; the only difficulty was to identify that something.  He had vague ideas, himself, of hiring a motor-car by the day, and proceeding to scour the country round Cambridge.  But even this did not stand scrutiny.  If he had failed to persuade Frank to remain in Cambridge, it was improbable that he could succeed in persuading him to return—­even if he found him.  About eight important roads run out of Cambridge, and he had not a glimmer of an idea as to which of these he had taken.  It was possible, even, that he had not taken any of them, and was walking across country.  That would be quite characteristic of Frank.

* * * * *

He finished breakfast dismally, and blew through an empty pipe, staring lackadaisically out of the window at the wall of Sidney Sussex for two or three minutes before lighting up.  Cambridge seemed an extraordinary flat and stupid place now that Frank was no longer within it.  Really there was nothing particular to do.  It had become almost a regular engagement for him to step round to the Great Court about eleven, and see what was to be done.  Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis—­sometimes a canoe on the Backs—­at any rate, they would either lunch or dine together.  And if they didn’t—­well, at any rate, Frank was there!

He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade.  But it seemed an amazing waste of company that the figure should always be alone.  Why hadn’t he proposed to go with him himself?  He didn’t know; except, that it certainly would not have been accepted.  And yet they could have had quite a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after a couple of months, surely Frank would have had enough of it!