‘Or even better,’ replied the Pilot, ‘a record of theatres attended, with musical comedies marked in red, should be sent to every Dean at the end of each term, by the theatre people.’ ‘Great Scott, what revelations there’d be; why, some of the most respectable people would lose their characters at once. Poor old de Beresford, who went six times to “San Toy” and seven to “Florodora,” is supposed to be a model character.’ This from Reggie. ‘Chiefly,’ I remarked, ‘because he never cuts the Dean and always pays the Treasurer “the exact amount of his battels, not requiring change,” see College Rules.’ ‘If we could all acquire good reputations as easily, how happy we should be,’ murmured the Pilot pensively; ‘somehow I never have been able to get the authorities to take me seriously.’ ‘You must start by taking yourself seriously,’ replied Freddy, ‘but it all shows how little our Dons really know about us. Look at old von Graussman, noisy and addicted to beer, but hard-working and conscientious. His character among the Dons is “lazy, rowdy, and conscienceless”: you know after a row he’s always sent for first. Then take, as I said before, de Beresford, or Accrington, who conceals behind a constant attendance at early chapel and a habit of going about with a logic book in his hand, the most villainous and demoniacal mind and a rooted hatred of all in authority; he’s at the bottom of most ructions in College.’ ‘It’s quite true,’ I said, ‘I am afraid on the whole we’re a bad and unvirtuous lot.’ ‘Looking back on the past term, I see,’ remarked the Pilot pointing out of window, ‘a blue haze over everything; I can dimly descry several theatres, three twenty-firsters, many large dinners, four Saturday nights, and a couple of outings to town; these, with a slight admixture of lectures and a row in College, constitutes the employment of most of us for the last term; one or two have had schools, but for the rest this is “le monde ou l’on s’amuse.”’ ‘True, O King,’ said Squiff, ‘but I am going to turn you all out now, as I’ve got to pack. I’ve got leave to go down to-morrow: I suppose, by-the-bye, I shall see you all in town on Saturday at the Rugger Match.’ ‘If not at it, at least afterwards,’ I said; ‘we’ll say the Royal Leicester for choice, I think, and supper at--?’ ‘We can settle that later; you must go now,’ said Squiff hastily, and so we departed, promising to speed the O’Rossa on his way at the station. The chronicles of the Rugger Match, and what happened after it, and before it, and how we all got to it, require a fresh chapter and a new pen. VI. RUGGER NIGHT.