energies were mainly devoted to the compilation of a monthly magazine
(strictly unofficial) entitled _The Glow Worm_. This he edited,
and for the most part wrote himself. It was a clever periodical, and
rarely failed to bring him in at least ten shillings per number, after
deducting the expenses which the College bookseller, who acted as sole
agent, did his best to make as big as possible. Only a very few of the
elect knew the identity of the editor, and they were bound to strict
secrecy. On the day before the publication of each number, a notice was
placed in the desk of the captain of each form, notifying him of what
the morrow would bring forth, and asking him to pass it round the form.
That was all. The School did the rest. _The Glow Worm_ always sold
well, principally because of the personal nature of its contents. If
the average mortal is told that there is something about him in a
paper, he will buy that paper at your own price.

Today he was giving his monthly tea in honour of the new number. Only
contributors were invited, and the menu was always of the best. It was
a _Punch_ dinner, only more so, for these teas were celebrated
with musical honours, and Charteris on the banjo was worth hearing. His
rendering of extracts from the works of Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan was
an intellectual treat.

'When I take the chair at our harmonic club!' he chanted, fixing the
unconscious Welch with a fiery glance. 'Welch!'

'Yes.'

'If this is your idea of a harmonic club, it isn't mine. Put down that
book, and try and be sociable.'