eady to fling away his book, and, while Lonsdale grunted and
labored to pull off his riding-boots to hear the tale of a great run
across a great piece of country.

There was the autumn afternoon when Grainger stroked St. Mary's to
victory in the Coxwainless Fours. Another oar was hung in Two Hundred
and Two, and a bonfire was made in Cuther's quad to celebrate the
occasion. Afterward Grainger himself triumphantly drunk between Michael
and Lonsdale was slowly persuaded along the High and put to bed, while
Wedderburn prescribed in his deepest voice a dozen remedies.

There were jovial dinner parties when rowing men from Univ and New
College sat gigantically round the table and ate gigantically and
laughed gigantically, and were taken upstairs to Wedderburn's dim-lit
room to admire his statues of Apollo, his old embroideries and his Durer
woodcuts. These giants in their baggy blanket trousers, their
brass-buttoned coats and Leander ties nearly as pink as their own
faces, made Wedderburn's white Apollos look almost mincing and the
embroideries rather insipid. There were other dinner parties even more
jovial when the Palace of Delights, otherwise 202 High, entertained the
Hotel de Luxe, otherwise 230 High, the abode of Cuffe, Sterns, and
Sinclair, or the Chamber of Horrors, otherwise 61 Longwall, where
Maurice and Castleton lived. After dinner the guests and the hosts would
march arm in arm down to college and be just in time to make a
tremendous noise in Venner's, after which they would visit some of the
second-year men, and with bridge to wind up the evening would march arm
in arm up the High and home again.

In the Lent term there were windy afternoons with the St. Mary's
beagles, when after a long run Lonsdale and Michael would lose the
college drag and hire a dogcart in which they would come spanking back
to Oxford with the March gale dying in their wake and the dusk gathering
fast. In the same term there was a hockey cup-match, when St. Mary's was
drawn to play an unfamiliar college on the enemy's ground. 202 High
wondered how on earth such an out-of-the-way ground could possibly be
reached, and the end of it was that a coach was ordered in which a dozen
people drove the mile or so to the field of play, with Lonsdale blowing
the horn all the way down High Street and Cornmarket Street and the
Woodstock Road.

Michael during the year at Two Hundred and Two scarcely saw anybody who
was not in the heart of the main ath