Toward the end of his first year he sent to Westover one night from a
station-house, where he had been locked up for breaking a street-lamp
in Boston. By his own showing he had not broken the lamp, or assisted,
except through his presence, at the misdeed of the tipsy students who
had done it. His breath betrayed that he had been drinking, too; but
otherwise he seemed as sober as Westover himself, who did not know
whether to augur well or ill for him from the proofs he had given before
of his ability to carry off a bottle of wine with a perfectly level
head. Jeff seemed to believe Westover a person of such influence that
he could secure his release at once, and he was abashed to find that
he must pass the night in the cell, where he conferred with Westover
through the bars.

In the police court, where his companions were fined, the next morning,
he was discharged for want of evidence against him; but the university
authorities did not take the same view as the civil authorities. He
was suspended, and for the time he passed out of Westover's sight and
knowledge.

He expected to find him at Lion's Head, where he went to pass the month
of August--in painting those pictures of the mountain which had in some
sort, almost in spite of him, become his specialty. But Mrs. Durgin
employed the first free moments after their meeting in explaining that
Jeff had got a chance to work his way to London on a cattle-steamer, and
had been abroad the whole summer. He had written home that the voyage
had been glorious, with plenty to eat and little to do; and he had made
favor with the captain for his return by the same vessel in September.
By other letters it seemed that he had spent the time mostly in England;
but he had crossed over into France for a fortnight, and had spent a
week in Paris. His mother read some passages from his letters aloud to
show Westover how Jeff was keeping his eyes open. His accounts of his
travel were a mixture of crude sensations in the presence of famous
scenes and objects of interest, hard-headed observation of the facts of
life, narrow-minded misconception of conditions, and wholly intelligent
and adequate study of the art of inn-keeping in city and country.

Mrs. Durgin seemed to feel that there was some excuse due for the
relative quantity of the last. "He knows that's what I'd care for the
most; and Jeff a'n't one to forget his mother." As if the word reminded
her, she added, after a moment: "We sha'n'