"It's a hell of a thing to do to leave it lying around!" cried
Forbes, impenitent. "No quarter for Joebags! Let the punishment
fit the crime."

"Well, you chaps, I've got to sheer off," said Whitney. "It's
nearly eleven and I've got an essay on the stocks. Cheer-o
Priapus, I've had a ripping time."

"'Arf a mo,'" cried Forbes. "Who's to do the next chapter, and
where do we meet next week?"

"Falstaff!" cried several voices.

"Why not do two chapters a week," said Carter. "I'll do one, and
Goblin can do another. Let's meet in my rooms."

This was agreed to, and after much scuffling with greatcoats and
scarves the guests tramped off down the stairs and out into the
rainy quad. Forbes could hear them, a minute later, thundering
with their heels on the huge iron-studded college gate as they
waited for the porter to let them out. The room was foul with
smoke, and he opened a window over the gardens letting in a gush
of chill sweet air and rain. Through the darkness he could hear
many chimes, counting eleven. He looked wearily at the scribbled
notes for his essay on Danton and Robespierre: then shrugged his
shoulders and went to bed.