Freak's repartee was to offer me a cigarette.
"Let us take a walk down Trinity Street," he continued. "I have to go and see The Tut."
"Who?"
"My Tutor. Don't get fossilised all at once, old thing!"
I apologised.
"What are you going to see him about?" I enquired. "Been sent down?"
"No. I am going to get leave to hold a dinner-party consisting of more than four persons," replied my friend, quoting pedantically from the College Statute which seeks (vainly) to regulate the convivial tendencies of the undergraduate.
"Ah," I remarked airily--"quite so! For my part, such rules no longer apply to me."
Fatal vaunt! Next moment Dicky was frantically embracing me before all Trinity Street.
"Brave heart," he announced, "this is providential! You are a godsend--a deus ex machina--a little cherub sent from aloft! It never occurred to me: I need not go to The Tut for leave at all now! It would have been a forlorn hope in any case. But now all is well. You shall come to the dinner. In fact, you shall give it! Then no Tut in the world can interfere. Come along, host and honoured guest! Come and see Wicky about it!"