y out of it and run a chance of being arrested. I daresay you'd like
to hear what I've been at."

"If you've committed any kind of crime," I said, "I'd rather you didn't
tell me. It might be awkward for me afterwards when you are tried."

"I don't think it's exactly a crime," said Sam, "anyhow, it isn't
anything wrong, though, of course, it may be slightly illegal. I'd
rather like to have your opinion about that."

"Is it a long story? I'm rather busy to-day."

"Not very long," said Sam, "but I daresay it would sound better after
dinner. What would you say now to asking me to dine to-night at your
club? We could go up to that library place afterwards. There's never
anybody there, and I could tell you the whole thing."

Sam knows the ways of my club nearly as well as I do myself. There
is never anyone in the library in the evening. I gave the required
invitation.

We dined comfortably, and I got a good cigar for Sam afterwards. When
the waiter had left the room he plunged into his story.

"You remember the day I was hauled up before that old ass of a
magistrate. He jawed a lot and then fined me L3 4s. 6d., which you paid.
Jolly decent of you. I hadn't a shilling in the world, being absolutely
stony broke at the time; so if you hadn't paid--and lots of fellows
wouldn't--I should have had to go to gaol."

"Never mind about that," I said. "You've paid me back."

"Still, I'm grateful, especially as I should have missed the spree of
my life if I'd been locked up. As it was, thanks to you, I walked out of
the court without a stain on my character."

"Well, hardly that. You were found guilty of riotous behaviour, you
know."

"Anyhow, I walked out," said Sam, "and that's the main point."

It was, of course, the point which mattered most; and, after all, the
stain on Sam's character was not indelible. Lots of young fellows behave
riotously and turn out excellent men afterwards. I was an undergraduate
myself once, and there is a story about Sam's father, now a dean, which
is still told occasionally. When he was an undergraduate a cow was found
tied up in the big examination hall.

Sam's father, who was very far from being a dean then, had borrowed the
cow from a milkman.

"There were a lot of men waiting outside," said Sam. "They wanted to
stand me a lunch in honour of my escape."

"Your fellow-rioters, I suppose?"

"Well, most of them had been in the rag, and, of course, they were sorry
for me, being the only