“’Lucky for you the Padre is taking that chap to King’s Cross,” said Brother Lemming, “or he’d be down your throat. What really troubles him is our legal position under Masonic Law. I think he’ll inform on us one of these days. Well, good night, all.” The Doctor and Lemming turned off together. “Yes,” said Brother Burges, slipping his arm into mine. “Almost as much as the Church has. But perhaps I’m too much of a Ritualist.” I said nothing. I was speculating how soon I could steal a march on the Clergyman and inform against “Faith and Works No. 5837 E. C.” THE UNITED IDOLATERS TO THE COMPANIONS Horace, Ode 17, Bk. V. How comes it that, at even-tide, When level beams should show most truth, Man, failing, takes unfailing pride In memories of his frolic youth? Venus and Liber fill their hour; The games engage, the law-courts prove; Till hardened life breeds love of power Or Avarice, Age’s final love. Yet at the end, these comfort not-- Nor any triumph Fate decrees-- Compared with glorious, unforgot- ten innocent enormities Of frontless days before the beard, When, instant on the casual jest, The God Himself of Mirth appeared And snatched us to His heaving breast. And we--not caring who He was But certain He would come again-- Accepted all He brought to pass As Gods accept the lives of men.... Then He withdrew from sight and speech, Nor left a shrine. How comes it now While Charon’s keel grates on the beach, He calls so clear: “Rememberest thou?” THE UNITED IDOLATERS His name was Brownell and his reign was brief. He came from the Central Anglican Scholastic Agency, a soured, clever, reddish man picked up by the Head at the very last moment of the summer holidays in default of Macrea (of Macrea’s House) who wired from Switzerland that he had smashed a knee mountaineering, and would not be available that term. Looking back at the affair, one sees that the Head should have warned Mr. Brownell of the College’s outstanding peculiarity, instead of leaving him to discover it for himself the first day of the term, when he went for a walk to the beach, and saw “Potiphar” Mullins, Head of Games, smoking without conceal on the sands. “Pot,” having the whole of the Autumn Football challenges, acceptances, and Fifteen reconstructions to work out, did not at first comprehend Mr. Brownell’s shrill cry of: “You’re smoking! You’re smoking, sir!” but he removed his pipe, and answered, placably enough: “The Army Class is allowed to smoke, sir.” Mr. Brownell replied: “Preposterous!” Pot, seeing that this new person was uninformed, suggested that he should refer to the Head. “You may be sure I shall--sure I shall, sir! Then we shall see!”