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“Golly!” said Miss Meteyard.

“As you say. If there is one thing more repulsive than another it is Balliolity,” agreed Mr. Ingleby, who was a Trinity man.

“Bredon went to Balliol And sat at the feet of Gamaliel,”

chanted Mr. Garrett, closing his book.

“And just as he ought He cared for nought”

added Miss Meteyard. “I defy you to find another rhyme for Balliol.”

“Flittermouse, Tom Pinch, Fly-by-Night....”

“And his language was sesquipedalial.”

“It isn't sesquipedalial, it's sesquipedalian.”

“Bother!”

“Twist those papers up tight, duckie. Put them in the lid of the biscuit-tin. Damn! that's Mr. Armstrong's buzzer. Stick a saucer over my coffee. Where's my note-book?”

“....two double-faults running, so I said....”

“....I can't find the carbon of that Magnolia whole-treble....”

“....started at fifty to one....”

“Who's bagged my scissors?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Armstrong wants his Nutrax carbons....”

“....and shake 'em up well....”

“....hail you all, impale you all, jail you all....”

“Mr. Ingleby, can you spare me a moment?”