Fitzroy stopped short in his discourse and thrummed impatiently with clenched fists upon his inflated chest, as gorillas do. The rest of the company eyed the entrance of the newcomer in puzzled, faintly hostile silence. “Oh, Venner,” said the intruder, in loftiest self-confidence and unabashed clarity of accent. “I haven’t had those cigars yet.” He hadn’t had his cigars yet! Confound his impudence, and what right had he to buy cigars, and what infernal assurance had led him to suppose he might stroll into Venner’s in the third raw week of his uncuffed fresherdom? Who was he? What was he? Unvoiced, these questions quivered in the wrathful silence. “The boy was told to take them up, sir,” said Venner. Something in Venner’s manner toward this newcomer indicated to the familiars that he might have deprecated this deliberate entrance armored in self-satisfaction. Something there was in Venner’s assumption of impersonal civility which told the familiars that Venner himself recognized and sympathized with their as yet unspoken horror of tradition’s breach. “I rather want them to-night,” said the newcomer, and then he surveyed slowly his seniors and even nodded to one or two of them whom presumably he had known at school. “So if the boy hasn’t taken them up,” he continued, “you might send up another box. Thanks very much.” He seemed to debate for a moment with himself whether he should stay, but finally decided to go. As he reached the door, he said that, by Jove, his cigarette had gone out, and “You’ve got a light,” he added to Lonsdale, who was standing nearest to him. “Thanks very much.” The door of Venner’s slammed behind his imperturbableness, and a sigh of pent-up stupefaction was let loose. “Who’s your young friend, Lonny?” cried one. “He thought Lonny was the Common Room boy,” cried another. “Venner, give the cigars to Mr. Lonsdale to take up,” shouted a third. “He’s very daring for a freshman,” said Venner. “Very daring. I thought he was a fourth year Scholar whom I’d never seen, when he first came in the other day. Most of the freshmen are very timid at first. They think the senior men don’t like their coming in too soon. And perhaps it’s better for them to order what they want when I’m by myself. I can talk to them more easily that way. With all the men wanting their coffee and whiskies, I really can’t attend to orders so well just after hall.” “Who is he, Venner?” demanded half a dozen indignant voices. “Mr. Appleby. The Honorable George Appleby. But you ought to know him. He’s an Etonian.” Several Etonians admitted they knew him, and the Wykehamists present seized the occasion to point out the impossibility of such manners belonging to any other school. “He’s a friend of yours, then?” said Venner to Lonsdale. “Good lord, no, Venner!” declared Lonsdale. “He seemed on very familiar terms with you,” Venner chuckled wickedly.