Britten groaned aloud and every one regarded him. "Greek epigrams
on the fellows' names," he said. "Small beer in ancient bottles.
Let's get a stuffed broody hen to SIT on the magazine."

"We might do worse than a Greek epigram," said Cossington. "One in
each number. It--it impresses parents and keeps up our classical
tradition. And the masters CAN help. We don't want to antagonise
them. Of course--we've got to departmentalise. Writing is only one
section of the thing. The ARVONIAN has to stand for the school.
There's questions of space and questions of expense. We can't turn
out a great chunk of printed prose like--like wet cold toast and
call it a magazine."

Britten writhed, appreciating the image.

"There's to be a section of sports. YOU must do that."

"I'm not going to do any fine writing," said Shoesmith.

"What you've got to do is just to list all the chaps and put a note
to their play:--'Naylor minor must pass more. Football isn't the
place for extreme individualism.' 'Ammersham shapes well as half-
back.' Things like that."

"I could do that all right," said Shoesmith, brightening and
manifestly becoming pregnant with judgments.

"One great thing about a magazine of this sort," said Cossington,
"is to mention just as many names as you can in each number. It