I suppose I may try, sir? At any rate it won't do him any harm."

"Certainly," said Ernshaw, "I've heard of it before. Do the best you can
for him, Jepson."

Jepson shut the door with a "Thank you, sir," and proceeded to treat his
patient.

Before the doctor arrived Sir Arthur had almost entirely recovered, and
Vane was sitting up in bed, supported by the faithful Jepson's arm,
gasping and coughing, but perfectly sober, and wondering dimly what had
happened during the last hour or two--or was it weeks, or months, or
what? He felt horribly sick and ill, and he was trembling in every limb,
but the clouds of intoxication had cleared away from his mind; memory
was returning to him, and he was asking Jepson disjointed questions as
to what had happened.

"Never you mind about that, sir," said Jepson. "Everything's all right
now. Sir Arthur is coming round nicely, and now you've got that down,
you just lay back and keep quiet, and I'll go and make your coffee, and
before an hour's over you'll be ready and fit to go to the Sheldonian
and face the Chancellor as though you hadn't tasted a drop."

Vane, still wondering at his apparently miraculous recovery, did as he
was told and lay back upon the pillows, and Jepson went off to brew him
an "extra special" pot of coffee.

"It's very unfortunate for Mr. Maxwell," he said, when he got into his
own den, "very unfortunate, and on Degree Day too, but if I know
anything about him and Sir Arthur, and I can get him to the Theatre
dressed and _compos mentis_ and all that sort of thing--well, it's a
fiver at least in my pocket, so it's an ill wind that blows nobody
good."

The doctor arrived while he was making the coffee. Ernshaw explained
quickly what had happened. He went in and looked at Vane, felt his
pulse, asked him in a kindly tone why he had made such a fool of himself
on such a day, then he said that he couldn't improve on Jepson's
treatment under the circumstances, and went in to look at Sir Arthur,
who now, thanks to Ernshaw's care, was almost himself again.

"Curious business this," he said, after he had felt Sir Arthur's pulse
and found that he was practically all right. "Your son's case, I mean.
I've known him nearly all the time that he's been up, and I've always
considered that he was a teetotaller from principle. Of course it would
be simply absurd to attempt to conceal from you what has been the matter
with him this morning. He's been drunk, dead drunk, by about