every game under the sun as if they were all equally easy to him,
but I should not think that any one was ever found who believed half of
what he said.

Collier's great point was the beam which he kept on his face, he always
looked so perfectly delighted to see you that he was a most effective
cure for depression. He was fat and did not mind, which persuaded me
that he was very easy to please. Nature had prevented him from playing
football with any success, but for six or seven overs, on a cool day,
he was reported to be a dangerous fast bowler.

As Jack Ward thought that no ball yet made was worth worrying when he
could ride, drive, or even be driven, and since I was feeling about as
sick with footer as it is possible for any one who had got a love for
the game in him to be, I confess that we were a peculiar lot to think
much of ourselves.

My room was not made to hold five people, who, with the exception of
Dennison, were all either very broad or long, but a good honest squash
certainly makes for friendship. We were a fairly rowdy party, because
Lambert had brought his banjo and as soon as he had finished tea he
wanted to sing; in fact it may be said of him that he was always
wanting to sing and could never find any one who wished to listen to
him. I had already heard him sing some sentimental rubbish about
meeting by moonlight and another thing about stars and souls, and I
threw a cushion at his head as soon as he began to make some noise
which he called "tuning up." That began a cushion fight, which
resulted in two china shepherdesses, a small lamp, and some teacups
being smashed, but it persuaded Lambert that he could not sing whenever
he felt inclined. We all sat down again, and Ward, who had been
hanging on to the standard lamp while cushions had been flying around,
said to me--

"You did look down on your luck when I saw you in the quad. I can't
think why anybody should take these wretched games so seriously; it
seems to me a perfectly rotten thing to do."

"No game is worth playing in which it matters to any one else whether
you win or lose," Dennison said before I had a chance to answer Ward;
"the only games a self-respecting man can play are court tennis,
racquets and golf. Then there is no one to swear at you except
yourself."

"That's rubbish," I answered. "Half the fun of the thing is belonging
to a side, and a man must be mad to say that golf is a better game than
cricket."

"Dennison w