“I don’t know. I should like to. Of course it will depend on my getting through. If I do, I think a note from my tutor to my father might have a wholesome effect.” “Your tutor will do whatever you wish him to,” said Stewart. “At present he is going back to college. I have a hansom waiting because I hate walking. Do any of you want a lift?” The others stayed up till stumps were drawn, and walked down together. The tea no doubt had affected the Babe’s soul in some subtle manner, producing acute fatuity. The Babe spent the remaining ten days in assiduous inaction. He sat in canoes, he sat on benches watching cricket, he ate, he slept. He appeared at the Senate house on the morning when the lists were read out, in pumps, in pink pyjamas, a long great-coat, and a straw hat. Reggie, who stood next him, thought he detected signs of nervousness, when the names began to be read, but it is probable that he was mistaken, for the Babe had never before been known to be afflicted with that distressing malady. A large number of his more intimate friends were there, and an air of suspense was abroad. But it was over sooner than any one anticipated, for the Babe, contrary to the expectation of even the most sanguine of them all, and that was himself, came out first in the second class. There was one moment’s pause of astonishment, not unmingled with awe, and then a wild disorderly scene of riot and shouting arose, in which the Babe was seized and taken back to Trinity in a triumphal procession, which carried him over the grass in the great court, wholly disregarding the porters who gibbered helplessly around them, until Stewart appeared, who, however, instead of instantly stopping it, seemed to take sympathetic interest in the proceeding. Later in the day he wrote a charming letter to the Babe’s father, in which he congratulated him on his son’s brilliant success, alluded to his keen historical instinct and his vivid grasp of events--whatever a vivid grasp may be--and stated (which was undoubtedly true), that if certain five men out of the whole University had not happened to go in for the same tripos the same year, the Babe would infallibly have been Senior Historian. An answer came later to Stewart and the Babe. The latter’s was short but satisfactory. Reggie was breakfasting with him when the post came in, or rather he was waiting without any excess of patience while the Babe, whom he had just pulled out of bed, explained precisely how it was that he was not dressed yet, and urged him not to begin, or if he insisted on doing so, to play fair. At this moment the porter entered with the letter, and the Babe snatched it from his hand, tore it open, and executed a _pas seul_ round the room, until he stepped on the kettle lid, and hurt himself very much. “The Babe B.A. will be in residence another year,” he shouted. “You may eat all the breakfast, if you like.” Reggie had a healthy appetite, and the Babe was rather plaintive about it.