r: but then Rendell
never risked anything.

Undoubtedly they had all a great deal to recount, for sixteen weeks of
vacation could hardly fail to bring new friends and new experience, new
books and new ideas. And the Push knew that there is no satisfaction
in mere discovery: it is the telling of a tale that makes for pleasure.
So night after night Martin neglected to settle down after dinner,
began to tell tales, and concluded, somewhere about twelve, that it was
too late to begin now. Then they would play a rubber of sixpenny
auction just to make them sleepy and, playing till three or four, would
so succeed in their ambition that they could not breakfast till eleven.
Only Rendell refused to be tempted and went dutifully to his books.

Before long Martin quarrelled with Reggie Petworth, sulked foolishly,
despaired of the term, and began to rely on the winter vacation and the
subsequent six weeks of term to grapple with the problem of Mods. He
spent a miserable Christmas at The Steading and came to the conclusion
on New Year's Eve that he had forgotten nearly every word of Greek and
Latin that he had ever known. He did not look forward to the term, and
on January the fifteenth he went to Oxford as a lamb to the slaughter.

It was a term of infinite depression. The early months of the year,
everywhere unkind, are singularly uncharitable to Oxford: the glamour
of autumn had departed and winter has no majesty in muddy streets. The
days were yellow with a sticky warmth that brought exhaustion and
despair. Martin, passing from book to book, felt always, at whatever
time of day, as though he had eaten too much lunch and would die if he
didn't soon have tea: it was that kind of weather. He gave up football
because it made him sleep after tea: and then, being without exercise
or diversion, yawned all morning and read garbage after lunch. Rendell
had his work well in hand and was, men said, sure to get a first.
Lawrence had manfully abandoned hope and sought consolation in beer and
bridge. Martin, foolishly but characteristically, took the middle
path. He had neither the energy to work nor the courage to be idle,
but sat mournfully with his books, gazing blankly at the pages and
wondering why it was all so new to him. Then he would consult recent
papers, and his heart would sink yet lower as he realised his amazing
ignorance.

As the weeks slipped away he took to learning up lists of hard words
and legal technicali