up with Mr. Edwardes. I sat
next him at one breakfast, and he never ate anything except a piece of
dry toast, and he talked about patent foods. I never saw a man who
looked more as if he needed a really big meal of beef and plum-pudding;
but he was an authority on diet, and told me that food if too
nutritious was very bad for the brain. He could not, I thought, have
imagined that our brains were worth much; for I must say that though he
did not eat himself he gave us every chance of doing so, and if we had
been the torpid, who breakfast and dine hugely, he could not have
provided us with more food. Murray, who was one of many at this meal,
seemed to be very interested in what Mr. Edwardes said about diet, and
I told him afterwards that he was an arch-humbug; but it turned out
that he had been bothered all his life--at least he said so--by
indigestion, and that at Wellingham he had lived on some peculiar
biscuit for nearly a fortnight, which recalled to my mind what Ward had
said to me about him.

I played in all the 'Varsity rugger matches which were not scratched,
and we finished up by beating the Wellingham Nomads after a muddy and
desperate struggle. Murray was playing for the Nomads and Foster for
the 'Varsity, and so many Wellingham people came round to Murray's
rooms after the match that I had to hold a kind of overflow meeting in
my rooms, after the manner of political gatherings. Murray was in
great spirits until everybody had gone, and then he said he had got a
most frightful attack of indigestion. So I let him talk it off. It
was curious that I had known him so long without ever having got him on
the subject of health; but he told me that when he came up to Oxford he
made up his mind to forget all about his ailments and eat anything. I
told him that he had better stick to that resolution, because I was
sure that his best way was never even to think about himself, but that
advice was not altogether unselfish. After he had spent a solid
half-hour in telling me what pains he suffered, he seemed so much
better that I was compelled to add that whenever he felt most awfully
bad he had better come and talk to me. I did not say that from conceit
but out of sympathy, and when he laughed I told him that if he thought
it was amusing for me to hear about his pains and spasms he was jolly
well mistaken.

"My father has talked about his liver for the last ten years," I said,
by way of proving that whatever inf