The two installed themselves in the hansom, and while the experienced animal between the shafts proceeded down Trinity Street, butting its way through sauntering pedestrians, pushing past country-parsonical governess carts, taking dogs in its stride, and shrinking apprehensively from motor-bicycles ridden by hatless youths in bedroom slippers, they discussed affairs of state. "There's only one way to do it, Dishy," said Marrable. "I'm going stroke." Dishy nodded approvingly. "It's the only thing to do," he said. "But who is going to row seven--Stroke?" "Yes." "Bow-side will go to pieces," said Dishy with conviction. "Perhaps. But as things are at present stroke side will." "That's true," admitted the coxswain. "Let's see now: there'll be you stroke, Duncombe seven, Puffin six--it's worth trying anyhow. We're bound to keep away from the James' people, so we might as well have a shot." "Clear out now," said Marrable, "and go round and tell the men to be at the boathouse by four, and we'll have a ten minutes' outing in the new order. Then, when you've done that, cut down to the boathouse and tell Jerry to alter my stretcher and Duncombe's." These commands involved a full hour's excessive activity in a hot sun on the part of Mr. Dishart-Watson; but Marrable was not the man to spare himself or his subordinates when occasion demanded. The coxswain descended to the step of the hansom and clung to the splash-board as he received his last instructions. "And tell Jerry," added Marrable, "to get down a new stroke-side oar, with a good six-inch blade. Duncombe's has been shaved down to a tooth-pick." Dishy nodded cheerfully and dropped off into the traffic. "The old man means business. We shall go Head now," he murmured to himself with simple confidence. "All right, sir, my fault entirely. Don't apologise!" And leaving an inverted motor-cyclist, who had run into him from behind, to congest the traffic and endure laceration from his own still faithfully revolving pedals, the coxswain of the St. Benedict's boat proceeded at a brisk pace back to his College, there to inform a sorely tried troupe of seven that, owing to an eleventh-hour change in the cast, a full-dress rehearsal of their evening's performance had been called for four o'clock sharp. CHAPTER II INTRODUCES THE HEROINE OF THIS NARRATIVE It has been said by those who ought to know that, if the most painful quarter of an hour in a man's life comes when he is screwing himself up to proposing-point, the corresponding period in a woman's is that immediately preceding her first dinner-party in her own house.