ll very perplexing, and although Martin did not suffer
the acute agony of apprehension that had made terrible his first few
days at Elfrey, he remained, in spite of all the hints given him by his
cousin Robert, ashamed of his ignorance and fearful of mistakes.

Soon he was sent for by his future tutor, Mr Reginald Petworth. Martin
found him surrounded by undergraduates who called him Reggie and
conversed with unconvincing heartiness. He knew that he hadn't ever to
say "sir" to a don, but he was not prepared for Christian names.
However, that would only begin after a considerable acquaintance. The
crowd began to melt away and he was soon the only man left.

"Well," said Petworth cheerily. "Let me see, you're----"

"Leigh."

"Oh yes, of course. You wrote some very jolly hexameters for us in the
scholarship exam."

Martin was deeply astonished. Two howlers! "Why, I thought that paper
would have done for me," he said.

"Oh, you howled once or twice. But you were jolly, very jolly."

Martin was silent and Petworth produced cigarettes.

"Um, yes. Have a good vac?"

"Splendid, thanks. I was in Devonshire most of the time. Dartmoor
way."

"Dartmoor is good, isn't it? I want to go down and dig about in the
hut circles. I am sure they haven't done enough. Passingham of Exeter
found some awfully jolly bones, besides some arrows and things. Do you
like digging?"

Martin confessed that he had never tried: he would have liked to add
that he found the hut circles disappointing. But he didn't dare to say
so. This conversation was rather trying and he was relieved when
Petworth came to business and mapped out his lectures and hours for
showing up compositions.

"I'm usually in after ten," concluded the tutor. "Come up and see me
and bring any questions. And don't do less than an hour a day."

"That won't kill me," said Martin.

"It's possible not to reach that standard, I find. Oxford is full of
things to do. Don't do all of them."

Martin went away with a muddled impression of countless book-shelves,
two excellent arm-chairs, some nice prints, a little, bright-eyed
urbane man and a general atmosphere of invincible jolliness. He was
not at all sure that he liked it.

For the first week or two Martin was the unwilling but abject victim of
Galerism. Galer had a way with youths and could handle even the most
pronounced, aggressive, 'Damn you, I'm a man of the world' type of
fresher. His influenc