"Was driven by excessive gloom, To drink and debt, and, last of all, To smoking opium in his room." All Saturday he was pestered by invaders who wanted him to row or be a soldier or join the National Service League, or the Men's Political Union, or the Fabian Society, or the Tariff Reform League. In despair he joined everything, except in cases where the man talked about immediate subscriptions: then he boldly refused. But few secretaries had sufficient enthusiasm to collect money. So Martin became a member of numerous societies of the majority of which he heard nothing more. Sometimes he received a printed notice of various meetings which he did not attend. He used to wonder vaguely who paid for all the printing ... certainly he did not. And so for the first two or three days of his residence he felt pestered and irritable. There were so many things to find out, such as when and where to be gowned, who were freshers and who were unapproachable seniors, what attitude to adopt to one's scout and one's tutor. It was all very perplexing, and although Martin did not suffer the acute agony of apprehension that had made terrible his first few days at Elfrey, he remained, in spite of all the hints given him by his cousin Robert, ashamed of his ignorance and fearful of mistakes. Soon he was sent for by his future tutor, Mr Reginald Petworth. Martin found him surrounded by undergraduates who called him Reggie and conversed with unconvincing heartiness. He knew that he hadn't ever to say "sir" to a don, but he was not prepared for Christian names. However, that would only begin after a considerable acquaintance. The crowd began to melt away and he was soon the only man left. "Well," said Petworth cheerily. "Let me see, you're----" "Leigh." "Oh yes, of course. You wrote some very jolly hexameters for us in the scholarship exam." Martin was deeply astonished. Two howlers! "Why, I thought that paper would have done for me," he said. "Oh, you howled once or twice. But you were jolly, very jolly." Martin was silent and Petworth produced cigarettes. "Um, yes. Have a good vac?" "Splendid, thanks. I was in Devonshire most of the time. Dartmoor way." "Dartmoor is good, isn't it? I want to go down and dig about in the hut circles. I am sure they haven't done enough. Passingham of Exeter found some awfully jolly bones, besides some arrows and things. Do you like digging?" Martin confessed that he had never tried: he would have liked to add that he found the hut circles disappointing. But he didn't dare to say so. This conversation was rather trying and he was relieved when Petworth came to business and mapped out his lectures and hours for showing up compositions. "I'm usually in after ten," concluded the tutor. "Come up and see me and bring any questions. And don't do less than an hour a day." "That won't kill me," said Martin.