xt morning the three hosts paid ten guineas each to the Dean.

"I thought you people were supposed to have come of age," he said
sardonically.

So incomparably slight was the hang-over from Perrier Jouet '93 that
Grainger, Lonsdale, and Michael smiled very cheerfully, produced their
check books, and would, if Mr. Ambrose had not been so discouraging,
have been really chatty.

After Collections of Lent term, that opportunity accepted by the college
authorities to be offensive in bulk, Michael felt his historical
studies were scarcely betraying such an impulse toward research as might
have been expected of him at this stage. Mr. Harbottle, the History
tutor, an abrupt and pleasant man with the appearance of a cat and the
manners of a dog, yapped vituperations from where he sat with all the
other dons in judgment along the High Table in Hall.

The Warden turned on his orbit and shone full-faced upon Michael.

"A little more work, Mr. Fane, will encourage us all. Your Collection
papers have evidently planted a doubt in Mr. Harbottle's mind."

"He never does a stroke of honest work, Warden," yapped the History
tutor. "If he stays up ten years he'll never get a Fourth."

"In spite of Mr. Harbottle's discouraging prophecy, we must continue to
hope, Mr. Fane, that you will obtain at least a Second next term."

"Next term!" Michael gasped. "But I was expecting to take Schools next
year."

"I'm afraid," said the Warden, "that according to Mr. Ambrose the fabric
of the college will scarcely survive another year of your residence. I
believe I echo your views, Mr. Ambrose?"

The Dean blinked his gray eye and finally said that possibly Mr. Fane
would change next term, adding that a more immediately serious matter
was a deficit of no less than seven chapels. Michael pointed out that he
designed in his fourth year to go as it were into industrious solitude
far away from St. Mary's.

"Are you suggesting Iffley?" inquired the Warden.

"Oh, no, not so far as that; but right away," said Michael. "Somewhere
near Keble. Miles away."

"But we have to consider next term," the Warden urged. "Next term, I
take it, you will still be occupied with the fashionable distractions of
High Street?"

"I'll make an offer," barked Mr. Harbottle. "If he likes to do another
Collection paper at the beginning of next term, and does it
satisfactorily, I will withdraw my opposition, and as far as I'm
concerned he can take his Schools next year."