My feeling for Raymond was more comradely than amorous. In my fourth year an even stronger relationship started. It was with a boy three years younger than myself, who was exceptionally intelligent and fine-spirited. Call him Dick, because his real name was the same as that of another person in the story. He was not in my house, but I had recently joined the school choir and so had he, and I had opportunities for speaking to him occasionally after choir practice. I was unconscious of sexual feeling for him. Our conversations were always impersonal. Our acquaintance was commented on and I was warned by one of the masters to end it. I replied that I would not have my friendships in any way limited. I pointed out that this boy was interested in the same things as myself, particularly in books; that the disparity in our ages was unfortunate, but that a lack of intelligence among the boys of my own age made it necessary for me to find friends where I could. Finally the headmaster took me to task about it. I lectured him on the advantage of friendship between elder and younger boys, citing Plato, the Greek poets, Shakespeare, Michael Angelo and others, who had felt the same way as I did. He let me go without taking any action. In my fifth year I was in the sixth form and was made a house-monitor. There were six house-monitors. One of them was the house games-captain, a friendly, easy-going fellow. He said to me one day: ‘Look here, Graves, I have been asked to send in a list of competitors for the inter-house boxing competition; shall I put your name down?’ I had not boxed for two terms. I had been busy with football and played for the house-team now. And since my coolness with Raymond boxing had lost its interest. I said: ‘I’m not boxing these days.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘young Alan is entering for the welter-weights. He’s got a very good chance. Why don’t you enter for the welter-weights too? You might be able to damage one or two of the stronger men and make it easier for him.’ I did not particularly like the idea of making things easier for Alan, but I obviously had to enter the competition. I had a reputation to keep up. I knew, however, that my wind, though all right for football, was not equal to boxing round after round. I decided that my fights must be short. The night before the competition I smuggled a bottle of cherry-whisky into the house. I would shorten the fights on that.