wore by Scarfe, and, to use the choice
language of one of them, "didn't sit up at anything as long as the
Necktie was in it"--and when they saw that Percy was a cool hand, and,
whatever he thought, did not let himself be startled by anything, these
two ingenuous youths plucked up heart and "let out all round."

They haunted billiard saloons, but failed to delude any one into the
belief that they knew one end of a cue from another. They went to
theatres, where the last thing they looked at was the stage. They
played cards without being quite sure what was the name of the game they
played. They smoked cigars, which it was well for their juvenile
stomachs were "warranted extra mild"; and they drank wine which neither
made glad their hearts nor improved their digestions; and they spiced
their conversation with big words which they did not know the meaning of
themselves, and would certainly have never found explained in the
dictionary.

Percy, after a few days, got sick of it. He had never "gone it" in this
style before; and finding out what it meant, he didn't see much fun in
it. Late hours and unwholesome food and never-ending "sport" did not
agree with him. He had looked forward to seeing a lot of the boat
practice on the river, and hearing a lot about University sport and
life. But in this he was disappointed. The "boats" were voted a
nuisance; and whenever the talk turned on Oxford it was instantly
tabooed as "shop." Scarfe sneered to him in private about these two
fools, but when with them he "went it" with the rest, and made no
protest.

"Percy," said Raby, two or three days after this sort of thing had been
going on, "you look wretchedly pale and tired. Why do you stay out so
late every night?"

"Oh," said Percy wearily, "I don't know--we humbug about. Nothing very
bad."

"If it makes you ill and wretched, I say it is bad, Percy," said the
girl.

"Oh, I don't know. Scarfe goes in for it, you know."

"I don't care a bit who goes in for it. It's bad."

"You don't mean to say you think Scarfe is a bad lot?"

"Don't speak to me of Mr Scarfe. I hate him for this!"

Percy whistled.

"Hullo, I say! here's a go!" he cried. "Then you're really spoons on
Jeff after all? How awfully glad he'll be when I tell him!"

"Percy I shall hate _you_ if you talk like that!" said the girl. "I
hate any one who is not good to you; and it is certainly not good to you
to lead you into folly and perhaps wickedn