"What shall _we_ do?" said Bob. "Come and have some tea at
Cook's?"

"All right."

Bob looked at Mike. There was no disguising the fact that he would be
in the way; but how convey this fact delicately to him?

"Look here, Mike," he said, with a happy inspiration, "Firby-Smith and
I are just going to get some tea. I think you'd better nip up to the
school. Probably Wain will want to see you, and tell you all about
things, which is your dorm. and so on. See you later," he concluded
airily. "Any one'll tell you the way to the school. Go straight on.
They'll send your luggage on later. So long." And his sole prop in
this world of strangers departed, leaving him to find his way for
himself.

There is no subject on which opinions differ so widely as this matter
of finding the way to a place. To the man who knows, it is simplicity
itself. Probably he really does imagine that he goes straight on,
ignoring the fact that for him the choice of three roads, all more or
less straight, has no perplexities. The man who does not know feels as
if he were in a maze.

Mike started out boldly, and lost his way. Go in which direction he
would, he always seemed to arrive at a square with a fountain and an
equestrian statue in its centre. On the fourth repetition of this feat
he stopped in a disheartened way, and looked about him. He was
beginning to feel bitter towards Bob. The man might at least have