From the Addenbrook's hospital to the Blenheim turnpike, all Cambridge was in an uproar--the college gates closed--the shops barricaded--the shop-boys away in support of their brother townsmen--the battle raged, and the Gown had the worst of the fight.
A luncheon of many courses had been provided for Rafael Mendoza at his inn; but he smiled at the clumsy efforts of the university cooks to entertain him, and a couple of dates and a glass of water formed his meal.

In vain the discomfited landlord pressed him to partake of the slighted banquet.

"A breakfast! psha!" said he.

"My good man, I have nineteen cooks, at salaries rising from four hundred a year.

I can have a dinner at any hour; but a Town and Gown row" (a brickbat here flying through the window crashed the caraffe of water in Mendoza's hand)--"a Town and Gown row is a novelty to me.