The hours in which each might practise, therefore, demanded careful arrangement. College regulations forbade the use of the pianos altogether between nine in the morning, and two in the afternoon, since it was popularly supposed by the authorities who framed this rule--and who shall say them nay--that all undergraduates worked between these hours, and that the sound of a piano would disturb them. Consequently, Ealing was allowed to play between eight A.M. and nine A.M., every morning, a privilege which he used intermittently during breakfast, and by which he drove Reggie, daily, to the verge of insanity, and Reggie between two P.M. and three P.M. Ealing again might play between three and five, and Reggie from five to seven. During these hours the temporary captain of the pianos, even if he did not wish to play himself, might stop the other from playing except with the soft pedal down. It had been found impossible to regulate the hours after dinner, and they often played simultaneously on their several pianos, and produced thereby very curious and interesting effects, which sounded Wagnerian at a sufficient distance. Finally, the use of the piano was totally prohibited by common consent between two A.M. and eight A.M. The Babe, like mournful Œnone, “hither came at noon” one Sunday morning. Chapel at King’s was at half-past ten, and that English habit of mind which weds indissolubly together Sunday morning and lying in bed, was responsible for the fact that on Sunday Reggie and Ealing always breakfasted after chapel. But the Babe, unlike that young lady, was in the best of spirits, and as Ealing and Reggie were not yet back from chapel, made tea and began breakfast without them. They came in a few minutes later, both rather cross. “When there is going to be a sermon,” said Reggie severely, taking off his surplice, “I consider that I have a right to be told. Morning, Babe.” “Oh, have you had a sermon?” said the Babe sweetly. “Who preached?” “The Dean. He preached for half-an-hour.” “More than half-an-hour,” said Ealing. “Totally inaudible, of course, but lengthy to make up for that.” “Pour me out some tea, Babe, if you’ve had the sense to make it.” “Sermons are trying if one hasn’t breakfasted,” said the Babe. “They are sermons in stones when one asks for bread.” “What do you mean?” “I haven’t the slightest idea. I hoped that perhaps one of you would know. Why should I know what I mean? It’s other people’s business to find out. And they for the most part neglect it shamefully.” “Shut up, Babe,” growled Reggie. “I wish you wouldn’t talk when I’m eating.” “Can’t you hear yourself eat?” asked the Babe sympathetically. “Wild horses shall not drag me to Chapel this afternoon,” said Ealing. “We’ll go for a walk, Reggie.” “I daresay: at present I can’t think of anything but food. Babe, you greedy hog, give me some fish.” “And very good fish it is,” said the Babe genially. “By the way, Sykes is far from well this morning.”