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EXCEPT FOR the letters written to me by Mr,
Pennett I have no documentary evidence con-
cerning the young man who was existing under my
name in the summer after I left Cambridge*. 'The fact
that I have preserved them is a proof that, i was aware
of their significance, although it is now nearly twenty
years since I last read them through, in these days
they would be typewritten; but in those days they
were fair-copied by a clerk, and the slanting calli-
graphy helps me to recapture my laded self as I was
when 1 apprehensively extracted them from their
envelopes. Even now they make rather uncomfort-
able reading, and I find myself wondering how their
simple-minded recipient managed to repel such an
onslaught of worldly wisdom.

But Tom Dixon was still about the place to pitch-
fork me into the village cricket team; and it happened
that it was on a showery June morning, when J was
setting out for one of the Butley matches, that 1
received the first really uncomfortable letter from
Mr. Pennett. We were playing over at Rotherdcn,
which meant an early start, as it was fourteen miles
away. So I slipped the letter into my pocket un-
opened and perused it at intervals later on in the day.
My Aunt Evelyn, I may say, never made any attempt
to influence me in my choice of 3. career. Like me,