Jeremy came into my room at half-past six, just as I was assembling my sponge and towels and dressing¹ gown and things for a bath. I saw him as I came out of my bedroom, looking for something to write a message on. He was making straight for my portfolio² of drawing paper. I called and made myself known to him.
Jeremy was in my house at school; he has what would be known in North Oxford³ as a “personality.” That is to say he is rather stupid, thoroughly⁴ well satisfied with himself, and acutely ambitious. Jeremy purposes to be President of the Union.
I said to him, “Hullo, Jeremy, I am afraid you find me on the point of going to have a bath. I never miss a bath before dinner; I shall tonight if I do not go at once. The bathroom is shut at seven. But do stay and drink some sherry won’t you?”
“Thanks,” said Jeremy, and sat down.
I reached for the decanter and found it empty. There must have been nearly a bottle there that morning.
“Jeremy, that damned man of mine has finished the sherry. I am sorry.”
“Never mind. I’ll just smoke a cigarette and go.”
My cigarettes are particularly large and take at least a quarter of an hour to smoke. I banished⁵ all my dreams of white tiles and steam and took a cigarette myself.
“I haven’t anything particular to say,” said Jeremy, “I was just passing your College and thought I might as well drop in for a little. It is hard to know what to do before hall, isn’t it?”
“I generally have a bath.”
“Ah, our baths are not open at this hour.”
He propped⁶ his feet on the side of the fireplace. He was wearing that detestable sort of dark brown suede⁷ shoes that always looks wet.
“Oh, I know one thing I wanted to ask you. I want to meet Richard Pares. I feel he is a man to know.”
“An amiable⁸

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