is Bunny's cart."

"I am jolly well not going to sit on the back seat of a dog-cart if I
can help it; I would rather go about in a perambulator," I said.

"You are so confoundedly particular," he went on with a great guffaw of
laughter, "but since it is Bunny's cart and I am going to drive I don't
see how we can offer you any other seat."

"Who the blazes is Bunny?" I asked, for his name was beginning to get
on my nerves, and Fred Foster sitting as dumb as a mute was enough to
upset any one.

"I know him at home, his father is the Marquis of Tillford and his real
name is Lord Augustus Langham, only his teeth stick out and every one
calls him Bunny," Ward answered.

"Heaps of money?" I said.

"Plenty, I should think."

"Then he is no use to me, though he may be the best fellow in the
world," I declared.

"You are a rum 'un, why he is just the sort of man who is some use."

"That depends," Foster said suddenly.

"Yes, it depends," I repeated, though I didn't know exactly what
depended.

"What depends?" Ward asked Foster.

"Well, if a man hasn't got much money it is no use knowing a lot of men
who have got no end."

"It never struck me that way. Perhaps you are right," and then turning
to me, he added, "Come to breakfast anyhow to-morrow morning, Bunny
won't be there then."

I promised to go, and then he left us. I walked back to Oriel with
Foster and he had got a lot to say about Jack Ward. "Where in the
world did you find that man?" was his first remark after we were alone.

"He found me," I said.

"I should lose him as soon as possible," Fred went on.

"I don't think that would be very easy," I answered, "and I don't
believe he is a bad sort really."

"I'll bet he never came back from Woodstock in five-and-twenty
minutes," Foster said.

CHAPTER III

THE RESULT OF THE FRESHERS' MATCH

If I had to describe in detail the first two or three weeks of my life
at Oxford, I think that accusations might be brought against me of
having eaten too much, or at any rate too often. Fortunately I had a
good digestion, I cannot imagine the fate of a dyspeptic freshman if he
had to attend a series of Oxford breakfasts. I have, however, only
once encountered a fresher who suffered from dyspepsia, and if there
was any other man so afflicted at St. Cuthbert's he probably did not
admit his complaint. For we were supposed to be very cultivated at St.
Cuthbert's, and at that time it was not good form t