"Yes. They are rather jolly, aren't they? That's a genuine Corot over there which I bamboozled the governor into letting me bring up. Are you fond of art?"
"Very," said Paul, "but I know so little about it. Literature's more in my line. I'm awfully keen. I say, I wonder if you'd come to 'The Literary Lounge' one night?"
The other smiled. "That's the new freshers' effort, isn't it? Still, I don't mind. What night?"
Paul was hugely delighted, and began to expand. "I'd love to know what you think of some of my things," he said.
"You should show them to Tressor. He'd help you."
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Paul, "I shouldn't dare."
"Why not? Not that I think much of Tressor's stuff myself. Of course he can write rattlin' English, and it all flows placidly enough, but there's nothing much in it. It's extraordinary what the public will read. He has huge sales. I know him quite a lot you know. Knew him at Winchester."
"He reads my essays, of course," said Paul, "but I never thought to show a don my verse, let alone a fellow with a reputation like Tressor's."
"Well, he's the man to help you obviously. And he would too. He's a jolly decent sort is Tressor. I spent a week last vac. at his place. He's got some rippin' stuff."
"Has he?" said Paul, eyeing with astonished awe the man who had stayed with a foremost literary lion and actually dared to criticise him.