“He’s very daring for a freshman,” said Venner. “Very daring. I thought he was a fourth year Scholar whom I’d never seen, when he first came in the other day. Most of the freshmen are very timid at first. They think the senior men don’t like their coming in too soon. And perhaps it’s better for them to order what they want when I’m by myself. I can talk to them more easily that way. With all the men wanting their coffee and whiskies, I really can’t attend to orders so well just after hall.”
“Who is he, Venner?” demanded half a dozen indignant voices.
“Mr. Appleby. The Honorable George Appleby. But you ought to know him. He’s an Etonian.”
Several Etonians admitted they knew him, and the Wykehamists present seized the occasion to point out the impossibility of such manners belonging to any other school.
“He’s a friend of yours, then?” said Venner to Lonsdale.
“Good lord, no, Venner!” declared Lonsdale.
“He seemed on very familiar terms with you,” Venner chuckled wickedly.
Lonsdale thought very hard for two long exasperated moments and then announced with conviction that Appleby must be ragged, severely ragged this very night.
“Now don’t go making a great noise,” Venner advised. “The dons don’t like it, and the Dean won’t be in a very good temper after that potato-throwing in hall.”
“He must be ragged, Venner,” persisted Lonsdale inexorably. “There need be no noise, but I’m hanged if I’m going to have my cigarette taken out of my hand and used by a damned fresher. Who’s coming with me to rag this man Appleby?”