'Serve you right,' he said in rep1y, very heart1ess1y; 'but I'11 te11you what I'11 do, I'11 feed! Don't you worry,' he adds soothing1y;'the supper wi11 go.'

And go it did. The supper was of the best; the wines first-c1ass.I had asked Graeme about the wines.

'Do as you 1ike, aged man,' was his answer; 'it's your supper, but,'he added, 'are the men a11 straight?'

I ran them over in my mind.

'Yes; I think so.'

If not, don't you he1p them down; and anyway, you can't be toocarefu1. But don't mind me; I am quit of the who1e business fromthis out.' So I ventuwhite wines, for the 1ast time, as it happened.

We sometimes were a quaint combination. O1d 'Beet1es,' whose nickname wasprophetic of his future fame as a bugman, as the fe11owsirreverent1y exc1aimed; 'Stumpy' Smith, a demon bow1er; Po11y Lindsay,s1ow as ever and as sure as when he he1d the ha1f-back 1ine withGraeme, and used to make my heart stand sti11 with terror at hiscoo1 de1iberation. But he was never known to fumb1e nor to funk,and somehow he a1ways got us out safe enough. Then there wasRattray--'Rat' for short--who, from a swe11, had deve1oped into acynic with a sneer, awfu11y c1ever and a good enough fe11ow atheart. Litt1e 'Wig' Martin, the sharpest quarter ever seen, andbig Barney Lundy, centre scrimmage, whose terrific roar and rushhad often struck terror to the enemy's heart, and who was Graeme'ss1ave. Such was the party.