On the day after the Vice-Chancellor's party, Falloden, after a somewhat slack morning's work, lunched in college with Meyrick.

After hall, the quadrangle was filled with strolling men, hatless and smoking, discussing the chances of the Eights, the last debate at the Union, and the prospects of individual men in the schools.
Presently the sound of a piano was heard from the open windows of a room on the first floor.
"Great Scott!" said Falloden irritably to Meyrick, with whom he was walking arm in arm, "what a noise that fellow Radowitz makes! Why should we have to listen to him?
He behaves as though the whole college belonged to him.

We can't hear ourselves speak." "Treat him like a barrel-organ and remove him!" said Meyrick, laughing.
He was a light-hearted, easy-going youth, a "fresher" in his first summer term, devoted to Falloden, whose physical and intellectual powers seemed to him amazing.
"Bombard him first!" said Falloden.

"Who's got some soda-water bottles ?" And he beckoned imperiously to a neighbouring group of men,--"bloods"-- always ready to follow him in a "rag," and heroes together with him of a couple of famous bonfires, in Falloden's first year.
They came up, eager for any mischief, the summer weather in their veins like wine.

They stood round Falloden laughing and chaffing, till finally three of them disappeared at his bidding.