"So we simply sat still, feeling we should like to be sick. Then the man Jebson gave himself a respite and us an idea by going on to talk of his social ambitions. He confided to us that he had come up here to form influential friendships--with athletic bloods, future statesmen, sons of peers, and so forth. He explained that it was merely a matter of money. All he wanted was a start. As soon as the athletes and peers heard of him and his wealth, they would be only too pleased to hobnob with him. Suddenly old Wicky, who had been sitting in the corner absolutely mum, as usual, asked him straight off to come and dine with him, and said he would get a few of the most prominent men in the ’Varsity to come and meet him. We simply gaped at first, but presently we saw there was some game on; and when The Jebber had removed himself, Wicky explained what he wanted us to do. He’s a silent bird, Wicky, but he thinks a lot. Here are his digs." We had reached a house in Jesus Lane, which we now entered, ascending to the first floor. Dicky rapidly introduced me to Mr. Wickham, who had just finished luncheon. He proved to be a young gentleman of diminutive stature and few words, in a Leander tie. He was, it appeared, a coxswain of high degree, and was only talkative when afloat. Then, one learned, he was a terror. It was credibly reported that on one occasion a freshman rowing bow in a trial eight, of a sensitive temperament and privately educated, had burst into tears and tried to throw away his oar after listening to Mr. Wickham’s blistering comments upon the crew in general and himself in particular during a particularly unsteady half-minute round Grassy Corner. He silently furnished us with cigarettes, and my somewhat unexpected inclusion in the coming revels was explained to him. "Good egg!" he remarked, when Dicky had finished. "Go round to the kitchen presently. Have dinner in these rooms, Freak. May be awkward for the men to get into College all togged up." "You see the idea now, Tiny?" said Dicky to me. "Wicky is going to be host, and the rest of us are going to dress up as influential young members of the University. We shall pull The Jebber’s leg right off!" "Do you think you will be able to keep up your assumed characters all dinner-time?" I asked. "You know what sometimes happens towards the end of--" "That’s all right," said The Freak. "We are n’t going to keep it up right to the end. At a given signal we shall unveil." "What then?" I enquired, not without concern. "We shall hold a sort of court martial. After that I don’t quite know what we will do, but we ought to be able to think of something pretty good by then," replied The Freak confidently. Mr. Wickham summed up the situation. "The man Jebson," he said briefly, "must die." "What character are you going to assume?" I enquired of The Freak. "Athlete, politician, peer, scholar--?" "I am the Marquis of Puddox," said my friend, with simple dignity.