ted a colossal bill at Blackwell's, so
that his shelves were soon piled with books which he rarely read. But
he was not the man to care deeply for his rooms, as did Davenant, who
believed in Gordon Craig and used to mess about in the afternoons,
putting the light in remote corners or hanging up curtains of a new
colour. It was well that Lawrence cared little for his rooms, as he
became invariably drunk on Saturday nights, and when drunk he was
violent. He would lie on the floor kicking and declaiming Limericks
until someone put him to bed: even then he was known to rise again and
break things.

Lawrence swilling beer in his rooms was a great spectacle. Usually
blasphemous and always obscene, he did everything on such a generous
scale and with such a childish innocence and honesty that he was always
attractive and rarely repelled even one so fastidious as Davenant.

It was on Sunday nights that the Push talked about religion. Lawrence
would pull out the sofa and build up a roaring fire: then with the aid
of pipes and much swallowing of beer they would set about it. Every
Sunday Rendell was pilloried, but the victim never objected and always
returned to the combat. The great point about religious discussion is
that you can never be beaten. They treated either with the truth of
Christianity or the value of its practical results. In the latter case
Lawrence would boom about bishops with fifteen thousand a year, and
Martin would demonstrate with irrefutable logic that religion had
always resisted freedom and education and had made the world the hole
it is. As they both talked interminably Rendell had little opportunity
of answering.

One night Lawrence rushed into his rooms shortly after dinner and found
the Push assembled.

"My god!" he said, plunging into the sofa.

"I thought you hadn't one," said Chard.

"Don't be obvious. I'm angry, my god, I'm angry."

He was asked to explain.

"Steel-Brockley asked me to go to coffee in his rooms and when I got
there I found he had provided a lecturer gassing about the value of
faith for us."

"Well," said Davenant, "that was very considerate of our Brockley."

"Exactly. But he might have warned me. It didn't matter. I couldn't
stick it long."

"I should think not. It's barely a half-an-hour since dinner now."

"What happened?" asked Martin.

"It was like this," began Lawrence. "Brockley produced a battered chap
from the colonies, all pockmarks and fre