ory to have won colours for good, solid cricket or to have
extorted a cup by mere bluff. There was something pleasant indeed in
the thought that a real cricketer would go on with his career, whereas
Martin would never dare to call himself a bowler at Oxford: on the
other hand, there was an exquisite piquancy in the consideration that
he had set out to 'do' cricket and had very successfully done it. Also
he had 'done' Randall's, and he was still boy enough to hate the rival
house with a fervent loathing. As the organ thundered out the farewell
hymn, he decided that to succeed in a fraud which does no real harm is
a very gratifying process. Then he pulled himself together and sang
dutifully.

XIII

Martin spent August and September at The Steading. The weather was
kind and he could lounge and play tennis to his heart's content. In
his spare moments he read Homer and Virgil, marking the hard passages
with a blue pencil, according to advice. His cousin Robert, who had
just finished his third year at Balliol, was working in a frenzy of
confusion and despair. He had devoted the whole previous year to
becoming President of the Union and, having gained his end, was now
endeavouring to condense all his Greats work into one year. He had
foolishly given way to panic, which meant that his work was as
unintelligent as it was ferocious. In the mornings he read Thucydides
and Cicero's Letters, smoking and swearing continuously. Martin used
to sit in the same room reading his Homer, but concentration was
rendered difficult by Robert's habit of roaring when he came to a
speech in the text of Thucydides. And when the roar was over he would
mutter in his distress:

"But the seeming firmness of those who will join in the contest is not
the actual loyalty of those who brought it on, but if, on the other
hand, anyone has much the greater advantage..." Having progressed so
far, he would look up and say: "Did I speak? I'm sorry!" Then he
would return sorrowfully to his speech.

In the evenings Robert read Bradley's _Logic and Appearance and
Reality_; if Martin came into the room he would be met with an outburst
on philosophy.

"It's all bunkum," Robert used to assert, throwing Bradley (library
copy) across the room. "Just organised bunkum. I suppose philosophers
have to make up some twaddle to justify their salaries, but they might
have spared us the Absolute!"

Robert was very angry about the Absolute and used t