has made men of Mr. Pembroke's type what they are. Oh, that
teacup! To be taken at prayers, at friendship, at love, till we
are quite sane, efficient, quite experienced, and quite useless
to God or man. We must drink it, or we shall die. But we need not
drink it always. Here is our problem and our salvation. There
comes a moment--God knows when--at which we can say, "I will
experience no longer. I will create. I will be an experience."
But to do this we must be both acute and heroic. For it is not
easy, after accepting six cups of tea, to throw the seventh in
the face of the hostess. And to Rickie this moment has not, as
yet, been offered.

Ansell, at the end of his third year, got a first in the Moral
Science Tripos. Being a scholar, he kept his rooms in college,
and at once began to work for a Fellowship. Rickie got a
creditable second in the Classical Tripos, Part I., and retired
to sallow lodgings in Mill bane, carrying with him the degree of
B.A. and a small exhibition, which was quite as much as he
deserved. For Part II. he read Greek Archaeology, and got a
second. All this means that Ansell was much cleverer than Rickie.
As for the cow, she was still going strong, though turning a
little academic as the years passed over her.

"We are bound to get narrow," sighed Rickie. He and his friend
were lying in a meadow during their last summer term. In his
incurable love for flowers he had plaited two garlands of
buttercups and cow-parsley, and Ansell's lean Jewish face was
framed in one of them. "Cambridge is wonderful, but--but it's so
tiny. You have no idea--at least, I think you have no idea--how
the great world looks down on it."