Mr. Gregg came forward heartily. "Why, Dune, this is quite splendid! The very man! Why, it is long since you've honoured our humble gathering.

Baccy? That's right. Help yourself. Erdington's going to read to us about the Huns and stand a fire of questions afterwards, aren't you, Erdington?"

The youth in spectacles gulped.

"_That's_ right. _That's_ right. Comfortable now, Dune? Got all you want? _That's_ right. Now we can begin, I think. Minutes of the last meeting, Stevens."

Olva placed himself in a corner and looked round the room. He found that most of the men were freshmen whose faces he did not know, but there, moving his fat body uneasily on a chair, was Bunning, and there, to his intense surprise, was Lawrence. That football hero was lounging with half-closed eyes in a large armchair. His broad back looked as though it would burst the wooden arms, and his plain, good-natured face beamed, through a cloud of smoke, upon the company. Below his short, light grey flannel trousers were bright purple socks. He had the body of a bullock--short, thick, broad, strong, thoroughly well calculated to withstand the rushes of oncoming three-quarters. Various freshmen flung timid glances at the hero every now and again; it was to them an event that they might have, for a whole hour, closely under their observation, this king among men.

Olva wondered at his presence. He remembered that Lawrence was taking a "pa.s.s" degree in History. He knew also that Lawrence somewhere in the depths of his slow brain had a thirst for knowledge and at the same time a certain a.s.surance that he would never acquire any. His slow voice, his slow smile, the great, heavy back, the short thick legs attracted Olva; there was something simple and primeval here that appealed to the Dune blood. Moreover, since the afternoon when Olva had played against the Harlequins and covered himself with glory, Lawrence had shown a disposition to make friends. Old Lawrence might be stupid, but, as a background, he was the most important man in the College. His slow, lumbering body as it rolled along the Court was followed by the eyes of countless freshmen. His appearance on the occasion of a College concert was the signal for an orgy of applause. Cardillac might lead the College, but he was, nevertheless, of common clay. Lawrence was of the G.o.ds!

Swift contrast the fat and shapeless Bunning! As the tremulous and almost tearful voice of little Erdington continued the solemn and dreary exposition of the Huns, Olva felt increasingly that Bunning's eye was upon him. Olva had not seen the creature since the night of the revival, and he was irritated with himself for the persistence of his interest.

The man's pluck had, in the first place, struck him, but now it seemed to him that they were, in some undefinable measure, linked together. As Olva watched him, half contemptuously, half sarcastically, he tried to pin his brain down to the actual, definite connection. It seemed ultimately to hang round that dreadful evening when they had been together; it was almost---although this was absurd--as though Bunning knew; but, in spite of the certain a.s.surance of his ignorance Olva felt as he moved uneasily under Bunning's gaze that the man himself was making some claim upon him. It was evident that Bunning was unhappy; he looked as though he had not slept; his face was white and puffy, his eyes dark and heavy. He was paying no attention to the "Huns," but was trying, obviously, to catch Olva's eye. As the reading progressed Olva became more and more uneasy. It showed the things that must be happening to his nerves. He had now that sensation that had often come to him lately that some one was waiting for him outside the door. He imagined that the man next to him, a spotty, thin and restless freshman, would suddenly turn to him and say quite casually--"By the way, you killed Carfax, didn't you?" Above all he imagined himself suddenly rising in his place and saying---"Yes, gentlemen, this is all very well, very interesting I'm sure, but I killed Carfax."

His tortured brain was being driven, compelled to these utterances.

Behind him still he felt that pursuing cloud; one day it would catch him and, out of the heart of it, there would leap . . .

And all this because Bunning looked at him. It was becoming now a habit--so general that it was instinctive--that, almost unconsciously, he should, at a point like this, pull at his nerves. "They are watching you; they are watching you. Don't let them see you like this; pull yourself together. . . ."

He did. Little Erdington's voice ceased. Mr. Gregg was heard saying: "It has always occurred to me that the Huns . . . " and then, after many speeches: "How does this point of view strike you, Erdington?"

It didn't strike Erdington very strongly, and there was no other person present who seemed to be struck in any very especial direction. The discussion, therefore, quickly flagged. Olva escaped Bunning's pleading eyes, found his gown amongst a heap in the corner, and avoiding Mr.

Gregg's pressing invitation to stay, plunged down the stairs. Behind him, then, making his heart leap into his mouth, was a slow, thick voice.

"I say, Dune, what do you say to a little drink in my room after all that muck?" Above him, in the dark shadow of the stair, loomed Lawrence's thick body.

"I shall be delighted," Olva said.

Lawrence came lumbering down. He always spoke as though words were a difficulty to him. He left out any word that was not of vital necessity.

"Muck that-awful muck. What do they want gettin' a piffler like that kid in the gla.s.ses to read his ideas? Ain't got any--not one--no more 'an I have."

They reached the Court--it swam softly in the moonlight--stars burnt, here and there, in a trembling sky.

Lawrence put his great arm through Olva's. "Rippin' game that o' yours yesterday. Rippin'." He seemed to lick his lips over it as a gourmet over a delicate dish.

Lawrence pursued his slow thoughts.

"I say, you know, you--re one of these clever ones--thinkin' an' writin'

an' all that--an' _yet_ you play footer like an archangel--a blarsted archangel. Lucky devil!" He sighed heavily. "Every time I put on my footer boots," he pursued, "I say to myself, 'What you'd be givin', Jerry Lawrence, if you could just go and write a book! What you'd give!

But it ain't likely--my spellin's somethin' shockin'."

Here there was interruption. Several men came rattling; laughing and shouting, down the staircase behind Lawrence and Olva.

"Oh, d.a.m.n!" said Lawrence, slowly turning round upon them. Cardillac was there, also Bobby Galleon, Rupert Craven, and one or two more.

Cardillac shouted. "Hul_lo_, Lawrence, old man. Is it true, as they say, that you've been sitting at the feet of our dearly beloved Gregg? How splendid for you!"

"I've been at our Historical Society hearin' about the Huns, and therefore there's compellin' necessity for a drink," Lawrence said, moving in the direction of his room.

"Oh! rot, don't go in yet. We're thinking of going round and paying Bunning a visit in another ten minutes. He's going to have a whole lot of men in for a prayer-meeting. Thompson's just brought word."

Thompson, a wretched creature in the Second Year, who had, during his first term, been of the pious persuasion and had since turned traitor, offered an eager a.s.surance.

The news obviously tempted Lawrence. He moved his body slowly round.

"Well," he said slowly, then he turned to Olva. "You'll come?" he said.

"No, thanks," said Olva shortly. "Bunning's been ragged about enough.

There's nothing the matter with the man."

Cardillac's voice was amused. "Well, Dune, I daresay we can get on without you," he said.

Lawrence said slowly, "Well, I don't know. P'raps it's mean on the man.

I want a drink. I don't think I'm havin' any to-night, Cards."

Cardillac was sharper. "Oh, nonsense, Lawrence, come along. It doesn't do the man any harm."

"It frightens the fellow out of his wits," said Dune sharply. "You wouldn't like it yourself if you had a dozen fellows tumbling down upon your rooms and chucking your things out of the window."

Rupert Craven said: "Well, I'm off anyhow. Work for me." He vanished into the shadow.

Lawrence nodded. "Good-bye, Cards, old man. Go and play your old bridge or something--leave the wretched Bunnin' to his prayers."

Lawrence and Olva moved away.

3

The first thing that Lawrence said when they were lounging comfortably in his worn but friendly chairs. .h.i.t Olva, expecting peace here at any rate, like a blow.

"Fellers have forgotten Carfax d.a.m.n quick."

In that good-natured face there was no suspicion, but Olva seemed to see there a curiosity, even an excitement.

"Yes," he said, "they have."

"Fellers," said Lawrence again, "aren't clever in this College. They get their firsts in Science--little measly pups from Board Schools who don't clean their teeth--and there are one or two men who can row a bit and play footer a bit and play cricket a bit--I grant you all that--but they _aren't_ clever--not what I call clever."

Olva waited for the development of Lawrence's brain.

"Now at St. Martin's they'll talk. They'll sit round a fire the whole blessed evenin' talkin'--about whether there's a G.o.d or isn't a G.o.d, about whether they're there or aren't there, about whether women are rotten or not, about jolly old Greece and jolly old Rome--_I_ know.

That's the sort o' stuff you could go in for--d.a.m.n interestin'. I'd like to listen to a bit of it, although they'd laugh if they heard me say so, but what I'm gettin' at is that there ain't any clever fellers in this old bundle o' bricks, and Carfax's death proves it."

"How does it prove it?" asked Dune.

"Why, don't you see, they'd have made more of Carfax. n.o.body said a blessed thing that any one mightn't have said."

Lawrence thought heavily for a moment or two, and then he brought out--