The Rajah, whose father’s harem was the finest in the East, early acquired a nice taste in chiffon, and is apparently endeavouring to form a large acquaintance among the ladies of the stage, obviously, as the Pilot bitterly remarked, for recruiting purposes. However, Peter had his innings on the following day at Accrington’s lunch, after which he carried off Ina for a quiet hour on the Cher, much to his host’s disgust. The remainder of the day passed off very quietly. Thursday was only remarkable for a spirited lecture by the Provost on the evils of the stage, delivered to Accrington at the leprous hour of 9.30 a.m. Our venerable Head had met the lunch party leaving College on the preceding day, and although we all saluted him with the utmost politeness, he did not return our greeting, but passed on his way combing his beard with his fingers, which is always a sign of impending evil. ‘The old bird turned very stuffy,’ said Accrington, relating the occurrence afterwards, ‘and said he seriously thought of informing my parents that I was wasting my time and money, and doing no good to myself or anybody else.’ ‘The usual formula,’ remarked Freddy, _en parenthèse_; ‘and finished up with the parting slap that no more lunch-leave would be given me this term. I’m afraid,’ he concluded, ‘that the last fragments of my reputation have dissolved.’ ‘A reputation,’ remarked the Pilot, solemnly, ‘is an expensive and unnecessary luxury in Oxford, and I can only marvel at the fearful efforts daily made by many to retain what was originally only a shadow.’ After this sweeping statement the unfortunate Peter was carried off to lunch at Luther House by a person with a pale face and a black cloak. As we strolled back to digs Reggie informed us that the Rajah had monopolised the entire company for the day, and there was nothing to do but to look forward to to-morrow’s lunch, which was going, in Kruger’s famous phrase, to ‘stagger humanity.’ From an early hour on Friday the antique remnant who wheels about Woodman’s cart was engaged in carrying delicacies of every kind, from champagne cup to salted almonds, towards 129, and Mrs. Corker, whose tongue has solved the problem of perpetual motion, spent the morning in listening to and immediately forgetting the numerous instructions which Squiff issued from his bedroom. Freddy, being a Roman Catholic, fasts--on lobster mayonnaise--every Friday, so he journeyed to the extreme end of the Banbury Road to get a dispensation from Father McGinnis, his spiritual adviser. On my arrival at 11.15 with Reggie, an agonized voice from Squiff’s room besought me to hurry round to the Purewell Press and demand the menus, which were Freddy’s choice, and calculated to make any one sit up. When I returned from this errand I found Squiff, who had reached the collar and braces stage, issuing his fifth batch of instructions to the muddled Corker, who had propped herself against the bannisters and was weeping copiously.