Boxing.

It was with considerable trepidation that I went to visit MR. ARMOUR, our fifteen-stone boxing machine. However, "Orders is orders," and I slunk into his room with the usual proud though unhappy demeanour of a "Smad" reporter—which is considerable. But enogh of me, tell me of yourself.

"Of myself?" boomed Mr. Armour. "I shall win. Indubitably. Unless, of course, I meet someone better. In which case I shall lose."

Here I endeavoured to look amused, at the same time striving to attain the pained look of a fresher seeing Laurel and Hardy for the first time.

"The prospects are fair," he said getting down to business at last. "I'll go through the weights, giving you a running commentary.

"In the heavywieght, of course, there is myself," . . . here he broke off and smiled. A little coyly, I thought.

"It is difficult . . ." he said. "Leave it at that," I murmured. He beamed vaguely and went on, and on and on. "And the other weights?" I said at last.

"Of course," he said in an aggrieved tone, "I was coming to them."

"In the light-heavy, we have Barnes. He has a fair chance. He hits hard, and is quick. But he may meet someone better. I remember once when I . . ."

I coaxed him back. (Have you ever coaxed a fifteen-stone heavy-weight?)

"Then we have Edgley" he resumed. "He has fought in Varsity tournaments before. None of the other competitors have. Need I say more?" I assured him he needn't, not much.

But he was not to be put off. He became entangled in a mass of technical details. I dozed, when suddenly there shot through the air-no guess again-the name of one whom I knew to be our star turn-one Meek.

"Meek," thundered the oracle, "has about the best chance of all of us-well, yes, of all of us. He hits hard is a quick dodger, and above all keeps cool. He . . ."

According to Mr. Armour, there can be no doubt about Bro. Meek. He will undoubtedly land the eggs and bacon.

"Edwards is good, but inexperienced. O'Connor is a cert. Punch . . ." He waxed lyrical. I practised shorthand. Then after a two minutes' silence dedicated to the skill of Comrade O'Connor, we proceeded.

"Then was have Campbell. He is solid. He beat that well-known fighter, Goring-Johnston. What more can I say?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, but I was wrong.

Rowing.

Darkly disguised, we caught Mr. Hansen, the V.U.C. stroke, in an unguarded moment and learned the up-and-up on the eight.

"The crew is going well and we'll reduce those six lengths to five this year," he said confidently.

"Come, come," we purred, "can't you cut it down to four." Mr. Hansen rudely snorted, but recovered sufficiently to say that the racewould take place on the Koro Koro course.

"We are training on the course and hope to get the landmarks set. Anyway, the public and follow the whole race," he concluded inconse-quently.

"How about these other Colleges, they're in the race, you know?"

We've heard very little, but A.U.C. seem weaker than last year. They smashed their boat," he chuckled a la Wallace Beery. "Canterbury will be stronger, but don't seem to have struck form yet by reports."

"Can you lick O.U.?" we asked, the last ray of hope still glimmering through these gloomy forebodings.

"To tell you the truth—"

"Don't do that," we said hurriedly, "We never like the truth-it lowers our prestige."

Mr. Hansen blew the froth off the top of his beer and swallowed deeply.

Basketball.

After going without tea and waiting around in a draughty corridor, "Smad" was kept at bay for twenty minutes with social small talk before MISS BELL condescended to tell us something about the basketabllteam's chances at Tournament. Even then we suspect her maidenly forbade her to spill much despite our most searching questions.

Glancing furtively at our wrist-watch we decided not to mince matters.

"By the way, what do you think of your chances?"

"Well, I really don't know. You see—" We were not to be beaten likethat, however, so we put it another way.

"How's the team going?"

"Oh, yes-of course!" This last admonishingly, but we deterred.

"And working up a good combination?"

"Yes the team's all right." We were glad of this, but felf we were losing our grip somewhat, when we were interrupted.

"There's one thing that isn't quite so good."

"What's that?"

"Marie Walker has developed appendicitis and will have to be replaced."

"Appendicitis?" We at once endeavoured to assume an air of surprise and sympathy.

"That will mean playing an emergency."

"Tough luck," we murmured.

"How will that leave you?"

"Naturally weaker, but—"

"You think you'll pull it off? Of course you will," "Smad" reassured her, not wishing to dwell on morbid topics. "Now what about other Colleges?"

Miss Bell hedged once more with her "I don't know," but we gather-eventually that C.U.C. are stronger than last year, but A.U.C. considerably weaker, with O.U. still an unknown but probably strong quantity.

"Now," we began, working up to the all-important question, "how do you think you'll go against them?"

"I really don't—"

But, no! "Smad" was not to be baulked again. This was the time for drastic measures.

"Do you know there's a bloke in the College laying odds that V.U.C. won't win a match?"

"Well, he'll jolly welllose his bets. I reckon we'll get into the Finals."

"Smad" relaxed-our work was done.

Tennis.

Mr. Plank had quite definite ideas about "Smad," but they availed him not. We quickly ran him to earth beneath a halo of cigarette ash and a chair in the Common Room. He was obviously uneasy and had that piteious "leme go, I've got an appointment" look about him.

"What's wrong now?" he quavered.

"Surely tennis isn't that bad?" said we, beaming seraphically on our victim. "Haven't we got a tennis team?" (Vague apprehensions.) "Are the McCarthys down with housemaid's knee or anything?"

"No, they're O.K." he whispered mournfully thinking of his appointment.

What can be done with an oyster's blood-brother? Yes, guile was the keynote.

"What about the other teams? A.U.C. have a strong team, one of the best for years. And what about Corich and Duffield of C.U.C.? Duffield won the singles last year, didn't he? These teams aren't going to accept the spoon out of sheer benevolence of spirit are they?" Allthis in the most dulcet tones. Our victim became heated beneath this infliction.

Bah! I don't euppose you've even seen any of our team practising. I think the McCarthys should account for Duffield in the singles. J. McCarthy and Miss Gerard (mixed doubles) have a good chance, also B. McCarthy and Marchant (men's doubles). Yes, the whole team'll give a good account of itself."

Here Mr. Plank began to sidel off, but we caught him gently round the neck and murmured sweetly in his ear.

"just a moment. Isn't it truethat the team is a trifle upset over the way the events are composed?"

"Grrh." (explosively). "They don't know what's good for them. Anyway, the committee is unanimous."

Mr. Plank now relapsed into vague cursings concerning "Smad" and recalcitrant tennis players in general. Clearly the oyster had closed again, so we flitted daintily away, just as Mr. Plank's appointmen came hurrying into view around the corner. Obviously it would have been mcuh better if we had sent our lady reporter to interview Mr. Plank.