walls with imitation tapestry, bought at
an auction, tall candlesticks and figured curtains. Amory liked him for
being clever and literary without effeminacy or affectation. In fact,
Amory did most of the strutting and tried painfully to make every remark
an epigram, than which, if one is content with ostensible epigrams,
there are many feats harder. 12 Univee was amused. Kerry read "Dorian
Gray" and simulated Lord Henry, following Amory about, addressing him
as "Dorian" and pretending to encourage in him wicked fancies and
attenuated tendencies to ennui. When he carried it into Commons, to the
amazement of the others at table, Amory became furiously embarrassed,
and after that made epigrams only before D'Invilliers or a convenient
mirror.

One day Tom and Amory tried reciting their own and Lord Dunsany's poems
to the music of Kerry's graphophone.

"Chant!" cried Tom. "Don't recite! Chant!"

Amory, who was performing, looked annoyed, and claimed that he needed
a record with less piano in it. Kerry thereupon rolled on the floor in
stifled laughter.

"Put on 'Hearts and Flowers'!" he howled. "Oh, my Lord, I'm going to
cast a kitten."

"Shut off the damn graphophone," Amory cried, rather red in the face.
"I'm not giving an exhibition."

In the meanwhile Amory delicately kept trying to awaken a sense of the
social system in D'Invilliers, for he knew that this poet was really
more conventional than he, and needed merely watered hair, a smaller
range of conversation, and a darker brown hat to become quite regular.
But the liturgy of Livingstone collars and dark ties fell on heedless
ears; in fact D'Invilliers faintly resented his efforts; so Amory
confined himself to calls once a week, and brought him occasionally to
12 Univee. This caused mild titters among the other freshmen, who called
them "Doctor Johnson and Boswell."

Alec Connage, another frequent visitor, liked him in a vague way, but
was afraid of him as a highbrow. Kerry, who saw through his poetic
patter to the solid, almost respectable depths within, was immensely
amused and would have him recite poetry by the hour, while he lay with
closed eyes on Amory's sofa and listened:

"Asleep or waking is it? for her neck
Kissed over close, wears yet a purple speck
Wherein the pained blood falters and goes out;
Soft and stung softly--fairer for a fleck..."

"That's good," Kerry would say softly. "It pleases the elder Holiday.
That's a great poet