And then the interview that followed—­not half so terrible as was expected.  The good-natured individual who stood before the fire, in blazer and slippers, was barely recognisable as the terrible official of yesterday’s encounter; while the sleek attendant at the Proctor’s elbow seemed more like a waiter than the pertinacious and fleet-footed “bull-dog.”  What a load was raised from the mind as the Proctor made a mild demand for five shillings, and the “bull-dog” pointed to a plate into which you gladly tossed the half-crowns.  And then you quitted the room which you vowed never again to enter, feeling that you had been let down very easily.  For you knew full well that beneath the Proctor’s suave demeanour lurked a sting which too often took the painful form of rustication from the University.

But let us accompany the Proctor as he makes his nightly rounds with his faithful body-guard, and look once more upon the ceremony of “proctorisation.”

What an imposing figure he is!  The silk gown adorned with velvet sleeves; the white bands round his neck denoting the sanctity of his office; his sturdy attendants:  are they not calculated to overawe the frivolous undergraduate?

Following him through the streets, into billiard-room and restaurant, one moralises on the sad necessity that compels this splendid dignitary to play the part of a common policeman.  But there is little time for thought.  On we go, on our painful mission.  Suddenly the keen-eyed “bull-dog” crosses the street, for an undergraduate has just come forth from a tobacconist’s shop.  He is wearing cap and gown, and—­oh, heinous offence—­he puffs the “herba nicotiana.”

The Proctor steps forward (for smoking in Academical dress is sternly forbidden) and, producing a note-book, vindicates thus the dignity of the law.

“Are you a member of this University, sir?” The offender murmurs that he is.  “Your name and college, sir.  I must trouble you to call upon me at nine a.m. to-morrow.”  Then, with raised cap and ceremonious bow, the Proctor leaves his victim to speculate mournfully on what the morrow will bring forth.

Forward! and we move on once more in quest of offenders against the “statutes.”  What curious reading some of these statutes afford!  We seem to get a whiff from bygone ages as we read the enactment condemning the practice of wearing the hair long as unworthy the University; and equally curious is the provision that forbids the student to carry any weapon save a bow and arrow.

But let us continue our journey.  Tramp, tramp, tramp!  No wonder we find the streets empty:  our echoing footsteps give the alarm.  But soon we make another capture.  This time the undergraduate seeks refuge in flight, but in vain.  “Fast” though he is, the bull-dog is faster; and the Proctor enters another name in his note-book.  Let him who runs read.

On we go; now visiting the railway station—­favourite hunting-ground of the Proctor—­now waiting while the theatre discharges its contents; for there the gownless student abounds and the Proctor’s heart grows merry.