I haven't been down long, and yet I knew nobody at the club except the treasurer, and he had nothing to say to me except to ask after you.

I went to dinner with the dons at the high table, and I nearly perished of the blues.

Little Riddell chirped about my profession, and that bounder Jackson, who was of our year, pretended that he had been your bosom friend.

I got so bored that I left early and wandered back to the club.

Somebody was making a racket in our old rooms in the High, windows open, you know, and singing.