way to the Great Western Station. It was a mild and sunny day,
with puffs of spring in the air. Who can ever forget the Saturday
morning at the end of term when the men "go down"? Long lines of
hansoms spinning briskly toward the station, with bulging
portmanteaus on the roof; the wide sunny sweep of the Broad with
the 'bus trundling past Trinity gates; a knot of tall youths in
the 'varsity uniform of gray "bags" and brown tweed norfolk,
smoking and talking at the Balliol lodge--and over it all the
clang of a hundred chimes, the gray fingers of a thousand spires
and pinnacles, the moist blue sky of England.... Ah, it is the
palace of youth, or it was once.

The Scorpions met on the dingy north-bound platform. Graham,
Keith, and Twiston had been obliged to scratch owing to other
more imperative plans; but five members boarded the 10 o'clock
train in high spirits. Forbes, Carter, King, Blair, and Whitney--
they filled a third-class smoker with tobacco and jest.

"Now, Goblin," cried Falstaff, as the train ran past the Port
Meadow, and the Radcliffe dome dropped from view; "Open those
sealed orders! You promised to draw up the rules of the game."

King pulled a paper from his pocket.

"I jotted down some points," he said. "This is the time to
discuss them."

_"Rules to be Observed by the Scorpions on the Great Kathleen
Excursion_