'Yes, yes, I am sure he was. There is no resemblance between you. He was a thoroughly degenerate type, I am afraid.
Paul's scout also remembered the name.
'There used to be another Mr Pennyfeather on this staircase once, he said, 'a very queer gentleman indeed. Would you believe it, sir, he used to take off all his clothes and go out and dance in the quad at night. Nice quiet gentleman, too, he was, except for his dancing. He must have been a little queer in his head, I suppose. I don't know what became of him. They say he died in prison. Then he procceded to tell Paul about an Annamese student who had attempted to buy one of the Senior Tutor's daughters.
On the second Sunday of term the Chaplain asked Paul to breakfast. 'It's a sad thing, he said, 'the way that the 'Varsity breakfast ‑ «brekker» we used to call it in my day ‑ is dying out. People haven't time for it. Always off to lectures at nine o'clock, except on Sundays. Have another kidney, won't you?
There was another don present, called Mr Sniggs, who addressed the Chaplain rather superciliously, Paul thought, as 'Padre'.
There was also an undergraduate from another college, a theological student called Stubbs, a grave young man with a quiet voice and with carefully formed opinions. He had a little argument with Mr Sniggs about the plans for rebuilding the Bodleian. Paul supported him.
Next day Paul found Stubbs' card on his table, the corner turned up. Paul went to Hertford to call on Stubbs, but found him out. He left his card, the corner turned up. Two days later a little note came from Hertford:
Dear Pennyfeather,
I wonder if you would care to come to tea next Tuesday, to meet the College Secretary of the League of Nations Union and the Chaplain of the Oxford prison. It would be so nice if you could.
Paul went and ate honey buns and anchovy toast. He liked the ugly, subdued little College, and he liked Stubbs.