Vernley sat down on John's bed and explained the various contrivances in the room. It was a long well-lit chamber with eight beds on either side, bordered by two long strips of carpet. The middle of the floor was bare. "It's jolly cold too," said Vernley, "when you stand on it with the wind blowing over you." "Stand on it, why?" "Oh, it's Lindon's fad--he's a physical culture crank, he's prefect here. He makes us all strip night and morning and has us squirming on our backs with our legs in the air,--but he's quite a decent chap. You'll get on with him well." "Why?" "Oh, you look so splendidly fit--he's simply mad on fitness. He spends half his time torturing me to get my fat down." "But you're strong," said John admiringly. "Oh, yes, but it is not strength he believes in--it's what he calls form, the Greek ideal--he's always talking about some Greek johnny, and he's rather like one himself. What's the J.N. for?" Vernley broke off abruptly and stared at the box. "John Narcissus--" "Narcissus!" "Yes--it's Greek too," John smiled, and Vernley laughed. John noticed that he had teeth like an animal's--white and strong. "Well--they'll call you 'Cissy' for short." "Oh, please don't tell them--I hate it," he said, looking at Vernley imploringly. "Very well--then it'll be Scissors--that's more cutting!" "I don't mind that--what's your name?" "What do you think--there's only one name for all persons like myself--Tubby--isn't it a libel?" "Yes--you're not too fat. I think you're--" John hesitated, "Well, what--let's hear." "You're quite--splendid." Vernley laughed again in his fascinating way. "Thanks--I can return that compliment." John flushed. He was glad Vernley had laughed like that. "That's strange, you know--saying that," added Vernley. "Why?" "Because most fellows never think about appearances--I always do, and you do. I loathe ugliness. Lindon's always preaching on that text. You'll hear him later, 'the good and the beautiful' that's his pet phrase. He's beautiful enough, but he isn't good." "Why?--does he swear?" "Good lord, yes--we all do, there's worse things than that." He stooped down and took a book out of the box at the foot of his bed. Then he glanced at a watch on his wrist. "Glory!" he exclaimed, "it's a quarter past seven. Come along or we'll be late." He hurried out, John following. He wished Vernley had gone on talking, he interested him in Lindon. What was it Lindon did? Perhaps he drank secretly, or cribbed, or--John hurried on, his head filled with speculations. He was looking forward to seeing the terrible Lindon. CHAPTER II I