“Hullo, Alan!” he cried. “How are you getting on? I say, why do they stick ‘Mr.’ in front of your name over the door? At St. Mary’s we drop the ‘Mr.’ or any other sort of title. Aren’t you unpacked _yet?_ You are a slacker. Look here, I want you to come out with me at once. I’ve got to get some more picture-wire and a gown and a picture of Mona Lisa.” “Mona how much?” said Alan. “La Gioconda, you ass.” “Sorry, my mistake,” said Alan. “And I saw some rattling book-shops as I came up the High,” Michael went on. “What did you have for lunch? I had bread and cheese—commons we call it at St. Mary’s. I say, I think I’m glad I don’t have to wear a scholar’s gown.” “I’m an exhibitioner,” said Alan. “Well, it’s the same thing. I like a commoner’s gown best. Where did you get that tea-caddy? I don’t believe I’ve got one. Pretty good view from your window. Mine looks out on the High.” “Look here,” asked Alan very solemnly, “where shall I hang this picture my mater gave me?” He displayed in a green frame The Soul’s Awakening. “Do you like it?” Michael asked gloomily. “I prefer these grouse by Thorburn that the governor gave me, but I like them both in a way,” Alan admitted. “I don’t think it much matters where you hang it,” Michael said. Then, thinking Alan looked rather hurt, he added hastily: “You see it’s such a very square room that practically it might go anywhere.” “Will you have a meringue?” Alan asked, proffering a crowded plate. “A meringue?” Michael repeated. “We’re rather famous for our meringues here,” said Alan gravely. “We make them in the kitchen. I ordered a double lot in case you came in.” “You seem to have found out a good deal about Christ Church already,” Michael observed. “The House,” Alan corrected. “We call it—in fact everybody calls it the House.” Michael was inclined to resent this arrogation by a college not his own of a distinct and slightly affected piece of nomenclature, and he wished he possessed enough knowledge of his own peculiar college customs to counter Alan’s display. “Well, hurry up and come out of the House,” he urged. “You can’t stay here unpacking all the afternoon.” “Why do you want to start buying things straight away?” Alan argued. “Because I know what I want,” Michael insisted. “Since when?” Alan demanded. “I’m not going to buy anything for a bit.” “Come on, come on,” Michael urged. He was in a hurry to enjoy the luxury of traversing the quads of Christ Church in company, of strolling down the High in company, of looking into shop windows in company, of finally defeating that first dismal loneliness with Alan and his company.