‘I say, Jones, how do you get to Farncombe from Weekites? One, two, three....’ I had only issued directions as far as Bridge before being counted out. ‘Three questions. One miss. You’re allowed three misses out of ten.’ ‘Where is Charterhouse Magazine? One, two, three, four....’ ‘Do you mean _The Carthusian_ office?’ I asked. Everyone laughed. ‘Four questions. Two misses. I say, Robinson, he’s answered far too many. We’ll set him a couple of stingers.’ Much whispering. ‘What is the age of the horse that rolls Under Green? One, two, three....’ ‘Six!’ I said, at a venture. ‘Wrong; thirty-eight. Six questions. Three misses! Think yourself lucky you weren’t asked its pedigree.’ ‘What are canoeing colours? One, two, thr ...’ ‘There aren’t any!’ ‘You’ll get cocked-up for festivity; but you can count it. Seven questions. Three misses. Jones?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘What was the name of the girl to whom rumour stated that last year’s football secretary was violently attached? One, two, three, four....’ ‘Daisy!’ (It sounded a likely name.) ‘Oh really! Well, I happen to know last year’s football secretary; and he’ll simply kill you for spreading scandal. You’re wrong anyhow. Eight questions. Four misses!’ ‘You’ll come to my “cube” at seven to-morrow morning. See? Good night!’ Here he waved his hair-brush over the candle, and a colossal shadow appeared on the ceiling. The Poetry Society died about this time—and this is how it died. Two of its sixth-form members came to a meeting and each read a rather dull and formal poem about love and nature; none of us paid much attention to them. But the following week they were published in _The Carthusian_, and soon every one was pointing and giggling. Both poems, which were signed with pseudonyms, were acrostics, the initial letters spelling out a ‘case.’ ‘Case’ meant ‘romance,’ a formal coupling of two boys’ names, with the name of the elder boy first. In these two cases both the first names mentioned were those of bloods. It was a foolish act of aggression in the feud between sixth form and the bloods. But nothing much would have come of it had not another of the sixth-form members of the Poetry Society been in love with one of the smaller boys whose names appeared in the acrostics. In rage and jealousy he went to the headmaster and called his attention to the acrostic—which otherwise neither he nor any other of the masters would have noticed. He pretended that he did not know the authors; but though he had not been at the particular meeting where the poems were read, he could easily have guessed them from the styles. Before things had taken this turn I had incautiously told someone who the authors were; so I was now dragged into the row as a witness against them. The headmaster took a very serious view of the case. The two poets were deprived of their monitorial privileges; the editor of _The Carthusian_, who,