re born yesterday
and would believe anything that you told them. In spite, however, of
their tender years there was a lurking ferocity that must be checked by
an indulgent heartiness of manner, as one might offer a nut to a monkey.
His invariable manner of salutation--"_Come_ along, Simter--the very man
I wanted to see"--lost its attraction through much repetition, and the
hearty assumption on the amiable gentleman's part that "we are all
boys together" froze many undergraduates into a chill and indifferent
silence. He had not taken Holy Orders, but he gave, nevertheless, the
effect of adopting the language of the World, the Flesh and the Devil in
order that he might the better spy out the land. He attracted, finally,
to himself certain timid souls who preferred insincere comfort to none
at all, but he was hotly rejected by more able-bodied persons.

Nevertheless the Historical Society prospered, and Olva one evening,
driven he knew not by what impulse, attended its meeting. When he
entered Mr. Gregg's room some dozen men were already seated there. The
walls were hung with groups in which a younger and even thinner Mr.
Gregg was displayed, a curious figure in "shorts." On one side of the
room two oars were hung and over the mantelpiece (littered with pipes)
there were photographs of the "Mona Lisa" and Da Vinci's "Last Supper."
The men in the room were embarrassed and silent. Under a strong light a
minute undergraduate with enormous spectacles sat, white and trembling;
it was obviously he who was to read the paper.

Mr. Gregg came forward heartily. "Why, Dune, this is quite splendid! The
very man! Why, it is long since you've honoured our humble gathering.
Baccy? That's right. Help yourself. Erdington's going to read to us
about the Huns and stand a fire of questions afterwards, aren't you,
Erdington?"

The youth in spectacles gulped.

"_That's_ right. _That's_ right. Comfortable now, Dune? Got all you
want? _That's_ right. Now we can begin, I think. Minutes of the last
meeting, Stevens."

Olva placed himself in a corner and looked round the room. He found that
most of the men were freshmen whose faces he did not know, but there,
moving his fat body uneasily on a chair, was Bunning, and there, to his
intense surprise, was Lawrence. That football hero was lounging with
half-closed eyes in a large armchair. His broad back looked as though
it would burst the wooden arms, and his plain, good-natured face beamed,
throu