It was quite sudden.

We were walking down the Corn one Monday morning when a poster in front of the Hyde, depicting a lady whose skin was black, whose hair was red, and whose clothing consisted of a string of beads, attracted our attention. The legend above, ‘The Cannibal Girl, Grand Theatre, To-night,’ and the words below in large letters, ‘Queenie Hareham,’ appeared to move Freddy to tender memories. He gazed at the amazing specimen of modern art for fully three minutes, sighed heavily, and then went straight off to take tickets for Monday and Saturday.

Squiff, who can celebrate any occasion, even that of his aunt’s death, with a light heart and much whisky, happily suggested a large lunch to some of the girls.

We decided to give it in Freddy’s digs, for as Squiff, whose real name is the O’Rossa and who is descended from Michael, second King of Ulster, naÏvely said, ‘They’re accustomed to that sort of thing at our place.’

Before the curtain fell on Monday evening fifty young gentlemen had sent fifty notes inviting one or more of the ladies of the company to any or every meal for the coming week. It is not remarkable in the light of subsequent events that Miss Kiddy Childe returned an unqualified refusal to all invitations and that the guardian of the stage-door paid off the back instalments of his rent on the following day.

Freddy returned from the performance in a state of ecstatic delight, and repeatedly alluded to the good times that were coming.

‘What’s it like?’ I asked.

‘Glorious,’ replied Freddy, ‘and where Eileen takes Venus in the private theatricals scene its simply colossal. Here’s the programme.’

And this is what I read:—

‘Kiddy Childe,’ I said, as I put it down, ‘surely that’s Squiff’s girl?’

‘Right O, right O,’ said Freddy, ‘he’s booked her for the whole week, and even now they’re cuddling in a private room at the Hyde.’

‘But,’ burst out the Pilot who was bubbling with suppressed excitement, ‘I wrote to her and she answered that, owing to a sad bereavement, she is not accepting any invitations. Now you say Squiff’s going to have her all the week; I believe the only thing she’s been bereft of—’ but here a burst of laughter prevented any further explanation; for the Pilot, as Freddy coarsely puts it, is going to be a devil-dodger; and even his explanation that a clergyman must see all sides of life would hardly cover an occasion like this.

‘I’ve invited Ina and the “Three Little Wives” to tea to-morrow,’ Freddy continued when the laughter had subsided, ‘you see that makes a girl for each of us.’

Here Reggie expressed his approval by a loud tattoo on a tobacco tin, but broke off very suddenly on Freddy declaring:

‘It must be in your digs, because Squiff’s got lunch for sixteen and our landlady says she can’t undertake tea after it.’

‘That’s very good of you,’ said the Pilot solemnly.

‘O don’t mention it,’ said Freddy, ‘we shan’t want your rooms again till Saturday, lunch is in Accrington’s on Wednesday and at ours on Friday.’

‘By-the-bye Freddy,’ I remarked, ‘tell your girl to bring her complexion with her.’

I stooped behind the arm-chair knowing what was coming, and so the bacca tin which followed this remark fell harmlessly upon the tram-lines outside.

‘It seems to me that this week is likely to be faintly tinged with purple,’ observed the Pilot meditatively, ‘and if the rain keeps clear of us and we keep clear of the Proctors I prophesy a good time for the elect.’

At this point Freddy left hurriedly as the clocks were striking twelve, while the rest of us, after a short but pithy conversation through the window with O.P. 281, retired to bed.

The Pilot and I spent the morning in the arduous duty of cutting lectures, while Reggie went round borrowing money to pay for a theatre ticket for the following Saturday.

At lunch in Fatty’s rooms, de Beresford regaled me with a harrowing description of Squiff’s misfortunes on the preceding evening.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘poor old Squiff got no answer to the note he sent Kiddy Childe in the interval, so after the show he crawled round to the stage door and waited for her. I suppose a bull-dog must have spotted him, for when they were half-way to her lodgings the Progpiece was seen in full chase behind. Squiff clutched her hand and yelled, “Faster, faster,” like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland, and they did the record down St. Ebbe’s into Paradise Square, where they got into her house unseen. Unfortunately it never struck them that their light was the only one in the Square, and this drew the Proctor like a moth. Squiff had barely time to get behind Kiddy’s dress-basket and pull a cabin trunk in front of him, when the obtrusive official entered the house and insisted on looking round the rooms. The dear girl shrieked through the door that she was going to bed, and when the Proctor had convinced himself of this, he departed, leaving two men to watch the house. At least this is how Squiff explained the fact that he didn’t reach his digs till 12.19.’

‘And,’ added Fatty, ‘the estimable Corker, who has not yet joined the Temperance League, had gone to bed with the door-key in her pocket entirely oblivious of the fact that Squiff had not returned, so Freddy had to haul him up by a sheet.’

‘If they do these things on the Monday, I shudder to think of Saturday,’ I remarked as I left to play against Barabbas’, while the others made for the river. I did rather well over the match, for after amassing 48 I persuaded Accrington to field for me, and returned for our tea-party.

I thought I was fairly punctual, but when I burst into the sitting-room I found the ‘Three Little Wives’ in one arm-chair gloating over ‘Gals’ Gossip.’

‘I must apologize for Lord Gilderdale not being here to receive you,’ I began, when a lady whom I subsequently discovered to be Miss Tiny Trimmer clustered round me and murmured sweetly ‘Oh! don’t let that worry you! I suppose you’re Martha?’ From which I gathered that Squiff had not spent all his time behind the basket on the preceding evening. After the sweet thing had introduced me to Ruby and Tweenie as Mr. Martha Cochrane, ‘the friend of Kiddy’s boy,’ we proceeded to make ourselves comfortable on the sofa but were immediately disturbed by Freddy who burst in like a whirlwind, exclaiming,

‘I’m awfully sorry I’m late, girls, but I see the lady of the house has received you,’ and then, ‘where’s Ina?’

‘Oh I expect she’s still on the river with the Rajah,’ said Ruby.

‘What, old Jellipore?’ cried the Pilot, as he came into the room; ‘curse those Basutos.’

Further introductions were followed by the arrival of Reggie and the tea-tray, which was presided over by the Pilot, who seemed rather in the cold pending the arrival of Miss Carlton.

During the meal the conversation ranged from Oxford to St. John’s Wood via Rhodes’ Will and Protection, and on its conclusion Freddy took Tiny into our other sitting-room to inspect my curious collection of birds’ eggs.

Miss Ina Carlton not yet having arrived, the Pilot improvised on the piano while I gave Tweenie Tarn my views on marriage, and Reggie in a distant corner discussed the relative merits of Oxford and Cambridge with the delicious Ruby Ramsden.

After a bit we discovered that the Pilot had silently departed, and then Reggie considerately offered to take the fair Ruby on the river for an hour, and they left accordingly.

At half-past six we smoothed out the dents in the sofa, and Tweenie said she ‘really must go.’

We thought it kinder not to go into the other sitting-room, but Tweenie enquired from the passage if Tiny meant to go home before the show or not.

As no answer was forthcoming, after a somewhat protracted farewell in the hall, I put Tweenie into a hansom and went up to dress for dinner.

I did not hear Miss Trimmer depart, and when I left the house at seven the dining-room door was still closed.

All through the evening the Pilot was in a state of suppressed rage, inspired by the unfortunate Rajah of Jellipore, who had, probably quite unconsciously, kept Miss Carlton out on the river about three hours too long.

The Rajah, whose father’s harem was the finest in the East, early acquired a nice taste in chiffon, and is apparently endeavouring to form a large acquaintance among the ladies of the stage, obviously, as the Pilot bitterly remarked, for recruiting purposes. However, Peter had his innings on the following day at Accrington’s lunch, after which he carried off Ina for a quiet hour on the Cher, much to his host’s disgust. The remainder of the day passed off very quietly.

Thursday was only remarkable for a spirited lecture by the Provost on the evils of the stage, delivered to Accrington at the leprous hour of 9.30 a.m.

Our venerable Head had met the lunch party leaving College on the preceding day, and although we all saluted him with the utmost politeness, he did not return our greeting, but passed on his way combing his beard with his fingers, which is always a sign of impending evil.

‘The old bird turned very stuffy,’ said Accrington, relating the occurrence afterwards, ‘and said he seriously thought of informing my parents that I was wasting my time and money, and doing no good to myself or anybody else.’

‘The usual formula,’ remarked Freddy, en parenthÈse; ‘and finished up with the parting slap that no more lunch-leave would be given me this term. I’m afraid,’ he concluded, ‘that the last fragments of my reputation have dissolved.’

‘A reputation,’ remarked the Pilot, solemnly, ‘is an expensive and unnecessary luxury in Oxford, and I can only marvel at the fearful efforts daily made by many to retain what was originally only a shadow.’ After this sweeping statement the unfortunate Peter was carried off to lunch at Luther House by a person with a pale face and a black cloak. As we strolled back to digs Reggie informed us that the Rajah had monopolised the entire company for the day, and there was nothing to do but to look forward to to-morrow’s lunch, which was going, in Kruger’s famous phrase, to ‘stagger humanity.’

From an early hour on Friday the antique remnant who wheels about Woodman’s cart was engaged in carrying delicacies of every kind, from champagne cup to salted almonds, towards 129, and Mrs. Corker, whose tongue has solved the problem of perpetual motion, spent the morning in listening to and immediately forgetting the numerous instructions which Squiff issued from his bedroom.

Freddy, being a Roman Catholic, fasts—on lobster mayonnaise—every Friday, so he journeyed to the extreme end of the Banbury Road to get a dispensation from Father McGinnis, his spiritual adviser. On my arrival at 11.15 with Reggie, an agonized voice from Squiff’s room besought me to hurry round to the Purewell Press and demand the menus, which were Freddy’s choice, and calculated to make any one sit up. When I returned from this errand I found Squiff, who had reached the collar and braces stage, issuing his fifth batch of instructions to the muddled Corker, who had propped herself against the bannisters and was weeping copiously.

At this juncture Freddy did a cake-walk into the room waving the dispensation, and we toasted the McGinnis in sherry and bitters. Freddy says that no one Roman Catholic priest stays in Oxford for long, the confessions are too much for them. While we were still honouring the Reverend Father a large crowd in the street below attracted our attention, and out of it there emerged Accrington, Reggie and the Pilot, carrying between them Farmborough’s bull-pup, the infamous Totters, who had apparently had a slight difference of opinion with a tram-conductor. Having deposited the ferocious animal in Freddy’s bedder they joined us in the drawing-room, where the unfortunate Corker met us with the announcement that Woodman had sent round no crockery but soup-plates. This horrible catastrophe instantly revealed Squiff’s marvellous faculty for dealing with an emergency. Before we had finished discussing what to do he had returned from next door bringing with him an entire dinner service which he had borrowed from the Hon. Lionel Strongi’th’arm, of Thomas’, as the said gentleman was going to attend the biterminal lunch of the Swillingdon Club. This promptitude so surprised Mrs. Corker that she found it necessary to have a cup of tea with a slight dash in it, which Squiff readily granted, as he says the savoury is always better when the Corker has dipped her beak.

At this moment the Pilot, who was more out of the window than in the room, espied our guests coming down St. Aldate’s, whereupon Squiff and Freddy ran down to meet them, while Reggie hastily secreted Squiff’s seven signed photos of Mabel Amoore, on account, as he explained, of professional jealousy. Freddy had only just directed them to his bedroom to leave their hats, when several loud shrieks followed by heavy thumps heralded the entrance of Miss Tiny Trimmer, with Totters firmly attached to her under petticoat. As they got inside the door they parted company, and Totters leapt upon the sofa triumphantly shaking in his mouth a piece of frilled yellow silk, which Freddy rescued and locked in his private drawer as a memento. The Corker was hastily summoned to give professional assistance, after which we sat down to lunch, a party of twelve.

The late Mr. Corker’s half-brother, a military gentleman of funereal aspect, by the name of Blubb, had kindly consented, for a small gratuity, to assist on this occasion; ‘it being,’ as he explained to Squiff, ‘not my hordinary vacation, but honly to oblige.’

‘I’m so sorry about that wretched dog,’ said Freddy, as he settled himself beside Tiny, ‘but he was always of an enquiring nature.’

‘Oh! he’s not so bad as Jellipore,’ replied Tiny, ‘he sticks like a burr. Why, when we told him we were out to every meal on Wednesday, he had a special one at half-past eleven in the morning for us, and we had to go.’

‘I’ve had over a dozen notes from him since we arrived,’ said Ina wearily across the table, ‘and he sends me poppies every day, the one flower I loathe.’

‘Would you like to go out to Jellipore as Ranee?’ asked the Pilot.

‘No, thanks,’ replied Ina, ‘I’m going to be the only pebble on my beach, and he’s got a regular cartload on his.’

‘You do generally appear to be stony, dear,’ said Ruby, amidst general laughter.

‘Ah! I haven’t got so many kind friends as you have,’ retorted Ina.

There is no knowing what this conversation might have led to, had not the Blubber appeared at Ina’s elbow with uncanny stealth, and demanded in a sepulchral voice:

‘Sherry wine or ’ock, Miss?’

‘D’you like Oxford?’ enquired Accrington, who always makes the most obvious remarks.

‘Oh! it’s lovely,’ responded Ruby enthusiastically, ‘and so exciting. Why, only yesterday I spent an hour in a man’s cupboard, because his aunt paid him a surprise visit on her way home from Scotland.’

‘How very unpleasant for you, dearest,’ put in Lily sweetly, ‘but of course you can take care of yourself.’

‘That’s better anyhow,’ replied Ruby tartly, ‘than always wanting one of the other sex to perform that duty, like someone I know.’

Here Freddy rapped sharply on the table and cried, ‘Parrot-house next door,’ which remark effectually silenced the girls, but seriously upset Reggie, who had been preparing a joke for several minutes.

‘I suppose you are a great authority on birds’ eggs now,’ queried the Pilot of Tiny, from the bottom of the table, amid a general silence.

‘What do you mean?’ demanded the fair one, who had completely forgotten the incident in question.

‘O nothing, only you spent two hours examining Martha’s collection with Freddy in our digs on Thursday afternoon.’

As nobody appeared to have anything further to say on this subject a holy hush fell upon the company, until Accrington, who had not asked a well-worn question for very nearly three minutes, demanded of Tweenie, ‘Have you seen any Freshers’ delights?’

‘Do you mean Mr. de Beresford’s canary-coloured waistcoat?’ she asked.

‘’Pon my word you’re rather hard on poor D.B.,’ said Accrington, ‘didn’t I see you driving over with him to——?’

Here the Blubber, with involuntary tact, created a sufficient diversion by dropping a meringue and then standing on it.

When Freddy had withered the old man with a glance, and more champagne had been dealt out all round, Squiff, who had been carrying on a sotto voce conversation with Miss Childe since the beginning of the meal, suddenly looked up and remarked, ‘Kiddy’s going to dance the “Can-can” for us after lunch.’

When I noticed the startling change which passed over the features of the Blubber, I fancied that he must have seen this graceful display of agility before, and I subsequently found the aged reprobate with his eye glued to the keyhole.

Freddy then proposed the health of the ‘Cannibal Girl’ Company in a neat little speech, in the course of which he mentioned that he never knew Cannibal girls wore so many clothes before.

‘I haven’t noticed anything excessive,’ put in Reggie, who had hitherto been obscured by the shapely form of Miss Trimmer. He mentioned that he thought three such pretty wives were entirely wasted on an old Mormon like Caskowiski, especially as some of us hadn’t even one apiece.

After this the tables were hastily cleared, and a few minutes later the Bursar of Thomas’, as he passed up St. Aldate’s, was edified by the spectacle of a large and interested crowd collected in front of the Maison Squiff. At the first glance he could only make out the back portion of someone who appeared to be conducting an orchestra, a hideous discord proceeding from the room; but on putting on his glasses he descried a gentleman standing on a chair and holding a top hat, which a lady, who was making a marvellous display of lingerie, kicked with astounding frequency amid loud applause. ‘The whole forming,’ as he subsequently remarked to his friend, a genial Tutor, ‘A motht degwading thpectacle for the undegwaduate, though, between ourthelves, I’ve theldom theen it better done, even at the Folies BerthÈres. I hope,’ he added plaintively, ‘that thethe young thcoundrelth didn’t thee me watching from the other thide of the threet.’ The Tutor, a request for more details meeting with no response, clutched his hat and started hastily for St. Aldate’s.

After the dance was finished, it was discovered that Ruby and Reggie had silently left the room, ‘in order,’ as he subsequently explained, ‘to talk over Freddy’s stamp collection.’ We left them in possession of the drawing room, and departed in couples for the river, most of us turning up again just in time for Hall.

On the following day we could see nothing of the dear girls as they had a matinÉe, and the Rajah succeeded in capturing them for tea. Owing to this I was able to meet Freddy, who was coming from his law lecture at St. Spirits’, about 12 o’clock, at Carfax: and having picked up Accrington at the O.U.D.S., we made our way to Butler’s, the florist’s. Here we encountered one of those startling obstacles that turn the brightest sunshine into overwhelming darkness.

‘We are very sorry, sir, but our Mr. Butler says he can’t possibly send any more bouquets round to the theatre on credit,’ said the slim young person in charge of the shop, with a weary air. As we could not manage to make up the requisite amount between us, Freddy, after a little tactful persuasion, induced her to fetch the proprietor from his lunch.

The sight of one of the Earl of Paunbrough’s cards, of which Freddy keeps a large stock for cases analogous to this, produced an immediate effect upon the obsequious Butler, and he readily consented to supply us with three arum lilies, some moss and a furlong of wire, the whole done up most artistically with the College ribbon, for the absurdly small price of two guineas. This arduous duty successfully performed, we returned to our respective luncheons promising to meet again at the Hyde at 6.30, when a few of us were going to dine together. On my way home I saw Verimisti, the Italian Count from King’s, who was madly in love with Lucinda Tubb, a lady whose youth has long been out of sight, though she still keeps it in mind, and often refers to it. That afternoon the Unregenerate narrowly escaped a terrible calamity which might have thrown us all into the deepest mourning and put a sudden end to our innocent jollity. Squiff, who was fielding out in the deep, had been standing at ease for about half-an-hour, when he suddenly bethought him of a photograph of the fair Kiddy in his pocket, and having extracted it, was gazing at it with soulful intensity, when the ball descending like a meteor, struck him violently on the head; but thanks to a cabbage-leaf in his hat and an abnormally thick skull no great damage was done.

We assembled as arranged at 6.30, a large but select party, though Verimisti who had had a champagne tea with Jellipore and the ladies, had already reached the confidential stage, and after twice shaking hands warmly with everybody, at once started on Accrington with a pointless Italian story which lasted all through dinner. In addition to our crowd from Cecil’s we had Blandford of Barabbas’, a prominent sportsman, who contributes very generously to the University Chest per the Proctors, St. Quentin of Mary’s, and finally de Beresford. I am not very clear as to the events of that night after we reached the theatre; but I recollect quite distinctly that at dinner we emptied a prodigious number of bottles, chiefly in health-drinking, and that Verimisti’s speech in replying for Italy was a triumph of incomprehensibility. When our party of ten finally landed at the theatre in a most hilarious mood and all wearing purple carnations, the performance had already started, for we heard the first song being roughly handled by a crowded and enthusiastic house. As we filed into our seats, some of our friends in the dress circle cheered, and we had much difficulty in preventing Verimisti from replying. Blandford created the first diversion of the evening by omitting to turn down his seat, and collapsing with some suddenness on the floor. A large party of twenty-firsters from Barabbas’—most of whom knew Blandford—rose and cheered heartily, the chorus of female savages who occupied the stage passing entirely unnoticed. The entrance of Nokop—the King’s physician—however was greeted with great applause and the popular chorus of his song:—

was taken up by everyone regardless of time and tune. We were particularly pleased with a gentleman in the second row who conducted the song with much greater success than the salaried official before the footlights. After the third encore, several entire strangers in the second row rose and shook his hand, while a person in a brown bowler hat and knicker-bockers appeared in the wings and made frantic signals to refuse further demands. Von Graussman, who seemed to be feeling the heat in the dress circle, here endeavoured to address the audience to the exclusion of King Caskowiski, who had just made an imposing entrance, and the following dialogue ensued:—

At this point a bulky and uniformed official intervened and von Graussman’s companion, a spectacled scholar of Cecil’s, was hustled out of the theatre without a chance of explanation, just as Sotite came forward to sing his famous song. The chorus of this, beginning:

is peculiarly tricky, and even the energetic sportsman in front was unable to keep the field altogether, for the orchestra finished first by a short bar, followed by Sotite and the Barabbas party, the rest of us being left at the post. Verimisti indeed, continued to sing the refrain through the whole of the next verse.

The landing and entrance of the English party created immense enthusiasm, though I failed to see why the Hon. Mrs. Charteris should come ashore in a skirt considerably above her knees, and Angus MacPhee’s topper and frock-coat seemed peculiarly out of place on a Cannibal Island. After the inevitable chorus, there followed the ‘Three Wives’ song, which received seven encores, and then Freddy, who, we understand had seen the piece before, declared that there was nothing of interest to follow, and drove us outside, ‘being,’ as he remarked, ‘Called to the Bar.’ Before we could regain our seats the curtain had fallen on the first act, and finding it impossible to remain in the crowded saloon, we paraded the street for ten minutes. When we got in again we found the second act in full swing, Ginsling and a chorus of female cabin-boys in a cake-walk receiving repeated encores, after which the self-appointed conductor went out to drown the microbes, returning just in time for Mrs. Mopper’s song on the perils of the ocean. The last verse of this was entirely lost through the attempted entrance of four members of the Snorters’ Club from Tydvil College, who were eventually ejected—after having embroiled most of the audience near the door—by four uniformed officials, assisted by the box-office clerk and two programme boys. But we afterwards discovered that Ironsides, the heavy-weight champion, left a limb of the law on the door mat, while a programme boy who had clung to him was deposited on a hay-cart in the yard of the Hyde. The sympathies of the audience were all with the Snorters, and after a brief though stirring speech from Reggie on the rights of Englishmen, the Barabbas men behind rose en masse and demanded somebody’s blood; but when the popular manager explained that the Lessees had gone home in a hansom they were appeased and resumed their seats for Queenie Hareham’s favourite song ‘They all of them have tried it on with me.’ After this the plot, in the fashion of musical comedies, was recklessly abandoned, and Jack Warmleigh did a Coon dance with Lady Betty Backstays. But the Hon. Alan Charteris, R.N., who attempted to sing a love song totally unconnected with the piece, was greeted with loud shouts of ‘Go off’; and then ensued a general mystification of the audience by dressing every character as some one else, including Mrs. Charteris’ appearance as the Cannibal Girl, which finished the first scene and gave another interval for lip-salve. Our little refreshment cost us nothing this time, as a complete stranger from the dress circle, who described himself in quavering tones as the ‘Great Mogul,’ absolutely insisted upon providing us all with lotion, though Freddy’s back teeth were already under water. Owing to a free fight which took place in the ladies’ cloak-room between de Beresford and a most indigestible looking person from Llewellyn’s, whose face he said annoyed him, we did not regain our seats until the next act was well under weigh. A gentleman from Barabbas’, after having kissed my hand, insisted upon my sitting on his knee, and addressed me fondly as ‘The Queen of the May.’ Owing to this and a tired feeling which came over me about this time, I saw nothing for quite ten minutes. When I next looked at the stage I found that the theatricals at Berehampton House were going strong, and the tableau representing Eileen Mervyn as Venus with King Caskowiski as Apollo balancing an apple on his head, was hailed with rapturous applause. The next tableau showed a lady wrapped in little else but mystery pointing to the sky, but before I had time to enquire what she was supposed to be, the gentleman on whose knee I was sitting suddenly shifted his position and I fell rather heavily to the floor. During the tableaux a fearful din prevented any songs reaching us, while the party from Barabbas’ appeared to be having a concert to themselves. At last the curtain fell amid cries of ‘Speech’ from all sides, and something in dress clothes with an enormous paste stud and a Roman nose advanced in front of the members of the Company and their respective bouquets. His lips appeared to be moving, but as there was no abatement of noise the curtain soon fell for the last time and we felt our way out while two King’s men strove heroically to remove the big bassoon.

We enjoyed a most successful supper with our lady friends, at which Verimisti failed to put in an appearance. On our way home we danced the Lancers at Carfax, and after vainly demanding a speech from the Principal of Barabbas’, whose house looks onto the High, retired to bed.

Reggie said the departure of the Company on the following morning reminded him of a Roman General’s triumph, and proved a positive harvest time for the cabbies. The smallest computation put the number of undergraduates present at a hundred and twenty, but the Proctor on his arrival only succeeded in entrapping eleven, of whom three had leave to go to town and one had come to meet his uncle.

The state of Accrington’s clothes, after spending half-an-hour in the lamp-room, was the cause of much profanity, while Squiff, who had climbed into a coal-truck, proved quite unrecognisable. But the adventures of the immaculate de Beresford put these misfortunes quite into the shade, for he was carried off in a horse-box to Stow-on-the-Wold, and only returned about 10 p.m. minus his watch-chain and cigarette-case, which he left at that remote spot as security for his dinner and return ticket.

However, even the solemn Pilot admitted that it was a very good week.

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