proud to take some slight but pitying interest in men of other
colleges. The unusual name of a freshman up at WESTMINSTER
attracted my attention; I read what he had to say; and it was only
by reciting rapidly with closed eyes the names of our own famous
alumni, beginning confidently with Barrie and ending, now very
doubtfully, with myself, that I was able to preserve my
equanimity. Later one heard that this undergraduate from overseas
had gone up at an age more advanced than customary; and just as
Cambridge men have been known to complain of the maturity of
Oxford Rhodes scholars, so one felt that this WESTMINSTER free-
lance in the thirties was no fit competitor for the youth of other
colleges. Indeed, it could not compete.

Well, I discovered him, but only to the few, the favoured, did I
speak of him. It may have been my uncertainty (which still
persists) whether he called himself Sayki, Sahki or Sakki which
made me thus ungenerous of his name, or it may have been the
feeling that the others were not worthy of him; but how refreshing
it was when some intellectually blown-up stranger said "Do you
ever read Saki?" to reply, with the same pronunciation and even
greater condescension: "Saki! He has been my favourite author for
years!"

A strange exotic creature, this Saki, to us many others who were
trying to do it too. For we were so domestic, he so terrifyingly
cosmopolitan. While we were being funny, as planned, with collar-
studs and hot-water bottles, he was being much funnier with
werwolves and tigers. Our little dialogues were between John and
Mary; his, and how much better, between Bertie van Tahn and the
Baroness. Even the most casual intruder into one of his sketches,