for a few days, was president last year and read some awfully good
papers."

Harry stared blankly. He had thought that every one played cricket and
football, especially when they were strong and healthy like Robin. He
had not quite understood about the society--and who was Meredith? "I
shall be glad to meet your friend," he said. "Is he still at
Cambridge?"

"Oh, Randal!" said Robin. "No, he came down the same time as I did.
He only got a second in History, although he was worth a first any day
of the week. But he had such lots of other things to do--his papers
for the 'Gracchi' took up any amount of time--and then history rather
bored him. He's very popular here, especially with all Fallacy Street
people."

"The Fallacy Street people!" repeated Harry, still more bewildered.
"Who are they?"

"Oh! I suppose you've forgotten," said Robin, mildly surprised.
"They're all the people who're intellectual in Pendragon. If you live
in Fallacy Street you're one of the wits. It's like belonging to the
'Mermaid' used to be, you know, in Shakespeare's time. They're really
awfully clever--some of them--the Miss Ponsonbys and Mrs. le
Terry--Aunt Clare thinks no end of Mrs. le Terry."

Robin's voice sounded a little awed. He had a great respect for
Fallacy Street. "Oh, they won't have any room for me," said Harry,
laughing. "I'm an awfully stupid old duffer. I haven't read anything
at all, except a bit of Kipling--'Barrack-room Ballads'--seems a waste
of time to read somehow."

That his father had very little interest in literature Robin had
discovered some time before, but that he should boast of it--openly,
laughingly--was really rather terrible.

Harry was silent for a few minutes; he had evidently made a blunder in
his choice of a subject, but it was really difficult.

"Where are we going this morning, Robin?" he said at last.

"Oh! I say!" Robin looked a little unhappy. "I'm awfully sorry,
father. I'm really afraid I can't come out this morning. There's a
box of books that have positively got to get off to Randal's place
to-night. I daren't keep them any longer. I'd do it this afternoon,
only it's Aunt Clare's at-home day and she always likes me to help her.
I'm really awfully sorry, but there are lots of other mornings, aren't
there? I simply must get those books off this morning."

"Why, of course," said Harry cheerfully; "there's plenty of time."

He was dreadfully disappointed. He had oft