for the Senior Mile?"

"No; only Tempest and Redwood."

Another pause--everybody evidently meditating what my mother would like
to hear next.

My mother meanwhile moved to the sideboard and began to pour out tea.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" she said, with a pleasant smile, to
Langrish. How relieved I was she did not call him "Everard" or "dear!"

"Yes, please--can I pass round?" he replied.

It was admirable. I had been in terror lest he would have collared the
first cup and stuck to it.

"Thank you, if you will, please. I see they are beginning to get your
old house ready for rebuilding."

"It won't be ready this term, though," said Warminster; "it will take--a
slice of cake, thanks."

"No sugar for me, thanks," said Coxhead. "I wonder if Jarman will have
to pay for it?"

"Does your _mater_ take cream and sugar?" said Purkis to me, in an
aside.

"I shouldn't think so," said Langrish, "because he didn't do it on
purpose, you know."

"Thank you very much. Do you mind putting it down there? And won't you
sit down?" said my mother, setting the example.

"I expect he'd better give up smoking, as he's always setting things on
fire," ventured I. "Mother knows about the guy last term, don't you,
mother?"

"Yes, indeed," said she, with a laugh, which won over the Philosophers
in a body. "That was a lucky escape for everybody. I was horrified."

"Well, old Sar--I mean Jones iv.--"

"I think he understands his nickname better than his real name," said my
clever parent.

"Old Sarah," said Langrish, getting rapidly at his ease, "let us in for
that. You see (cake up, please), it was this way--"

And he launched forth into an account of that famous adventure, into
which the company one by one cut, at my expense, of course, and highly
to the diversion of my mother.

Meanwhile the teapot was kept busy, and the jam went its rounds--some of
it on to Coxhead's shirt-front--and by the end of it all the
Philosophers found themselves comfortably at home.

"I say," said I, when a break came, "how's the club getting on?
Anything fresh?"

Langrish glanced round at my mother.

"I've got the minute-book," he said, "would she--"

"Oh, do!" said she. "Is it an account of your meetings? I would like
to hear it immensely. Debating societies are such capital things, I
think."

"It's a bit down on Sarah, though," said the secretary, dubiously.

"Why, I wasn't there," said I.

"Weren't you? that's all