When could a merrier party than Gaveston’s have been seen on Isis’s reedy banks? Seldom, if ever, have more envious glances been thrown than at the superb barge on which, with the aid of the faithful David, he entertained his summer-clad cousins. And never had laughter been freer and more continuous than when, on the first of the eight days of the festival, Gav showed his relatives the sights of the city, annotating the rich book of Oxford’s beauty with comments which, for wit and originality, had never been surpassed. Immediately on the arrival of his guests, Gaveston’s flow of fresh, untrammelled humour began. Even David was amazed when he pointed to the marmalade factory outside the station and declared to the incredulous cousins that it was Worcester College.[17] [17] Messrs. Baedekers’ guidebook gives passim an admirably accurate account of the chief features of interest, picturesque viewpoints, etc., of the university and city. It may be cordially recommended to readers of Mr. Budd’s work. (LIT. EXEC.) “So called after the sauce,” he added. And the quiet old houses of the station yard echoed with the peals of girlish laughter from the magnificent cream-coloured Daimler. The grim walls of the prison hove in view. “And what’s this, cousin ffoulis?” asked the Hon. Pamela Penhaligon with an anticipatory laugh hovering on her lips. “That I always forget,” answered Gav, with masterly affectation of solemnity. “I think it’s either the official residence of the Vice-Chancellor, or the premises of the Labour Club.” The welkin rang. Readily may it be imagined how quickly the week passed for the party dowered with such an host. Even the long intervals each morning between the bumping races could not pall Gav’s gaiety. “Why is it called Eights Week?” asked the Hon. Isidora Penhaligon as they waited patiently between the first and second heats of the Third Divide. “It isn’t, Is,” was Gav’s retort. “It’s called Waits Week!” And, in whole-hearted enjoyment of his friend’s pyrotechnics, David had almost choked over his delicious prunes in aspic. * * * * * The climax of all was, of course, the Cardinal College Fancy Dress Dance. To the last moment Gaveston succeeded in keeping secret the guise in which he planned to appear at the fashionable function. Not even David was admitted to his councils. Lively was the speculation in every college and hall, and even among the non-collegiate students, for such there are. Even Mongo was intrigued. For all his years, little in the college life escaped him, and he asked one day with a boyish laugh, “Going in woad, Gav?” The response was instantaneous. “They can’t debag me, if I do!” The Manchester School face of the President himself had relaxed when the repartee of his pupil had been in good time reported to him.