On the evening the Second Seven was initiated, Haydock--who developed an oppressive sense of responsibility for McGaw five or ten minutes before the fellow stood up to read his part--felt rather proud of him. McGaw’s turn came between a humourous effort in feeble rhyme, and a narrative that the writer sought to disinfect,--when he became aware that there were several instructors among his audience,--by explaining apologetically, that it was “from the French.” McGaw’s part was a dissertation on “The Vocabulary of Æschylus.” “I was glad he did it,” Haydock said to Wolcott, when telling him about the initiation later in the evening at the club; “because I’d blathered so much about his being serious and a scholar. Why it was wonderful--monumental! Nobody understood a word of it, after the first page, and there were twenty-three pages. I counted them; I had to look interested in something. If there’s a solitary iota subscript in Athens this night that didn’t get ripped up the back and disembowelled, I’d like to shake hands with it, and ask it how it escaped. Professor Tenny went over to him afterwards; they had a lemonade orgy together and made Greek puns. McGaw had the grey suit on; he’s really a rather fine-looking sort of a chap; he doesn’t seem peaked and sticky out at the sleeves the way he used to be. All the fellows wooded up in great style; I’d given Ellis a long talk to death beforehand, and told him the whole thing,”--Wolcott made a face. “Oh, you don’t mind! Ellis is just the kind to think it sort of nice and Godsome. In fact, Ellis told me he was afraid he’d always misjudged you, and asked me what he’d better do about it.” They both laughed. “It’s funny,” Haydock went on, “the way fellows are willing to accept a man here if only you can get the right people to hustle around and say that he’s ‘somebody.’ I was thinking that to-night. Not one of those fellows had ever heard of McGaw until I sprung him on them; and Ellis went around telling everybody he had ‘a future before him,’--whatever that means. Ellis is perfectly happy, you know, when he can persuade himself that some one he has just met has a future before him. He thought I had, for about two weeks once. Well, what I began to say was that, in a small way, McGaw is right in the thick of things now. There’s no reason why those fellows shouldn’t like him; he seems really human in spite of Æschylus; and if they do take to him, he’ll probably make the O. K. and the Pudding, and wind up by being Class Day Orator. When I left, he was talking to that detestable snob, Baxford. Heaven only knows what they found to talk about; but Baxford was cackling his mindless cackle. They seemed to have plenty to say to each other; I didn’t disturb them. Isn’t it funny?”