year here."

"Oh, then I was right," said Jack. "Symonds said that all the dons
had about fifteen hundred a year out of the fees; he said that it
wouldn't be worth their while to do it for less. But I said it was
much less. My father only gets about two hundred a year out of his
living, and it all goes to keep me at Cambridge. He says that when
he is vexed about things; but he must have plenty of his own. I
wish he would really tell me. Don't you think people ought to tell
their sons about their incomes?"

"I am afraid you are a very mercenary person," said Howard.

"No, I'm not," said Jack; "only I think one ought to know, and then
one could arrange. Father's awfully good about it, really; but if
ever I spend too much, he shakes his head and talks about the
workhouse. I used to be frightened, but I don't believe in the
workhouse now."

When luncheon was over, they went back to the other room. It was
true that, as Jack had said, Howard managed to make something
pleasant out of his rooms. The study was a big place looking into
the court; it was mostly lined with books, the bookcases going
round the room in a band about three feet from the floor and about
seven feet high. It was a theory of Howard's that you ought to be
able to see all your books without either stooping or climbing.
There was a big knee-hole table and half a dozen chairs. There was
an old portrait in oils over the mantelpiece, several arm-chairs,
one with a book-rest. Half a dozen photographs stood on the
mantelpiece, and there was practically nothing else in the room but