As soon as the 'Varsity football tour was finished, I went home and Fred Foster came with me. Any exultation I might have been inclined to show over my blue was completely checked by the way I played on the tour, and I was very glad when we got away from Wales and the sarcastic remarks of the Welsh newspapers. As a matter of curiosity it may be satisfactory to find out what famous Oxford teams of former years think of the one you happen to be in, but it was exceedingly disagreeable of the Welsh papers to suggest that we should not like to hear the opinions of these heroes, and one sporting reporter went out of his way to be nasty to me. "When I saw Marten at back and remember the brilliant exponents of the game who have filled his position in previous Dark Blue fifteens, I really cannot refrain from smiling. But it is a pity all the same." If I could have got hold of that fellow I think I might have curtailed the length of his smile, but Foster gave me a little satisfaction by saying that if a man was ass enough to write about "exponents of the game," he was probably paid a penny a line for what he wrote, and had sacrificed me for the sake of threepence.
We had a very good time during our first "vac." I think that Nina expected me to come back from Oxford with a very fine equipment of airs; in fact I know that she did for she told me so, but I was in a humble mood and gave her no chances to squash me, and she and Fred got on splendidly together. My first term had taught me that I did not know in the least what I wanted, which was an upsetting lesson for any one to learn who had always done what came next without bothering about the consequences. This result had been brought about by the Warden and Dennison, the one had in his curious way tried to urge me on, the other had sickened me of men who rag from morning to night, and I felt bothered for several days in succession. Then, however, I stopped worrying myself and regained my normal spirits, to the annoyance of my father who was at that time inveighing against Russia and the ritualistic vicar of our parish, and had a lot to say about the thin end of the wedge. He told me that I must take more interest in politics, and he made both Fred and me promise that we would speak at debating societies during our first year.
But when I recollected the discussions I had listened to at our college debating society I could not remember a single one at which I could have said anything to the point; how could I know whether "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," or what could I say about marriage being a failure? There was, indeed, only one man at St. Cuthbert's who could possibly know anything about marriage, and he had a wife and three children, but from the appearance of the lady I do not think that he was likely to give us his honest opinion.
I wrote to Jack Ward but did not get an answer, and when we got back to Oxford I found that he had been staying with a mining magnate whose name I could not pronounce. He had been gambling every night, I forget how much he won in a week, but it is of no consequence as he lost all of it and a lot more before he had finished. During this term he became a complete blood, and was constantly dining at wine clubs or with somebody like Bunny Langham. He joined the Mohocks, and men who did not know him, and thought that our wine club made far too much noise and was a nuisance to the college, said that he would get sent down at the end of his first year for being ploughed in pass Moderations. I, however, saw a good deal of him at odd times, and the fact that he absolutely refused to have anything more to do with Dennison than he could help delighted me. When Jack had no use for any one he had a very expressive way of letting them know it, and Dennison at last was so offended that he invaded my rooms one afternoon when I was changing after footer and couldn't escape from him.
"You don't see much of Ward now, do you?" he began, as he placed himself upon my bed.
"I see him every day," I answered.
"I can't understand why you care to do it."
"Well, I do care to do it; you are sitting on my socks, do you mind getting up?"
"You ought to hear what most of the freshers are saying about the side Ward is putting on, it isn't as if he had any good reason for sticking on side."
"What do you think is a good reason for sticking on side?" I asked.
"Ward can't do anything; you are a blue already, and I shall probably get my racquet blue, but of course that's got nothing to do with it."
"Then I shouldn't say anything about it," I answered, and putting on my coat I went into my sitter.
"Don't be a fool," he said as he followed me, "you stick so tremendously close to rotten old-fashioned ideas. I am not exactly committing a crime in not liking a man whom you profess to like."
"I have never professed to like any one in my life if I didn't like him," I returned, and instead of getting angry with me, he laughed and sat down in my biggest arm-chair. It was not his habit to have two quarrels going on at the same time, and when he wished to be amiable you had to work hard before you removed his smile. We had tea together, and I did work hard, but he refused to be offended, and told me that I was far too good a sort to be wrapped up in old prejudices, which were the laughing-stock of everybody who really thought about them. Oxford, he said, was the place for a good time and not for airing ridiculous fads which were all right at school, where there was nothing else to do but pretend to like a fellow for ever because you had happened to like him for a few weeks. And he also told me that being a blue, I ought to take my proper position in the college, and not to go about with men who were no use whatever.
In return I told him some beautifully plain things, but when a man has the terrific impudence of Dennison, he makes me too angry to be coherent. I let him know, however, that I intended to choose my own friends and that I thought a blue, if he was also a bounder, might do his college more harm than good. To which he replied that if a man was a bounder he found it exceedingly difficult to become a blue. When Dennison went away I rushed off to see Murray, and although he did not pretend to like Jack, he agreed with me that ten Wards in a college would not make it as unpleasant a place as one Dennison. After this attempt to get me on his side against Jack, Dennison left me more or less alone, but he smiled upon me whenever he saw me, and to Webb, Lambert and a man called Learoyd, who were at that time his particular friends, I believe that he described me as a lunatic who might be of use in the future.
I was very energetic during this term, and at the same time very quiet. The weather was so bad that astronomical people said that the sun had got spots upon it or had gone wrong somehow; at any rate we hardly ever saw it, and we lived in a deluge of rain. The Torpids had to be postponed, nearly every footer match was scratched, and the people who had been talking about water-famines for the last two years held their peace. Oxford seemed to be a most cheerless place, and Collier slept nearly the whole term. However, I most strenuously did labour, but I should never have stuck to it had not Murray helped me, and the result was that after we had been up five weeks I found myself in high favour with Mr. Gilbert Edwardes.
It is a dreadful thing to please your tutor if you do not happen to like him, because he asks you to breakfast by way of showing his pleasure, and at meals I could not put up with Mr. Edwardes. I sat next him at one breakfast, and he never ate anything except a piece of dry toast, and he talked about patent foods. I never saw a man who looked more as if he needed a really big meal of beef and plum-pudding; but he was an authority on diet, and told me that food if too nutritious was very bad for the brain. He could not, I thought, have imagined that our brains were worth much; for I must say that though he did not eat himself he gave us every chance of doing so, and if we had been the torpid, who breakfast and dine hugely, he could not have provided us with more food. Murray, who was one of many at this meal, seemed to be very interested in what Mr. Edwardes said about diet, and I told him afterwards that he was an arch-humbug; but it turned out that he had been bothered all his life—at least he said so—by indigestion, and that at Wellingham he had lived on some peculiar biscuit for nearly a fortnight, which recalled to my mind what Ward had said to me about him.
I played in all the 'Varsity rugger matches which were not scratched, and we finished up by beating the Wellingham Nomads after a muddy and desperate struggle. Murray was playing for the Nomads and Foster for the 'Varsity, and so many Wellingham people came round to Murray's rooms after the match that I had to hold a kind of overflow meeting in my rooms, after the manner of political gatherings. Murray was in great spirits until everybody had gone, and then he said he had got a most frightful attack of indigestion. So I let him talk it off. It was curious that I had known him so long without ever having got him on the subject of health; but he told me that when he came up to Oxford he made up his mind to forget all about his ailments and eat anything. I told him that he had better stick to that resolution, because I was sure that his best way was never even to think about himself, but that advice was not altogether unselfish. After he had spent a solid half-hour in telling me what pains he suffered, he seemed so much better that I was compelled to add that whenever he felt most awfully bad he had better come and talk to me. I did not say that from conceit but out of sympathy, and when he laughed I told him that if he thought it was amusing for me to hear about his pains and spasms he was jolly well mistaken.
"My father has talked about his liver for the last ten years," I said, by way of proving that whatever information he gave me about himself was bound to be stale.
"Then you will have one some day," Murray answered, and I imagined that he looked at me as if in the future we could have a royal time nursing our dyspepsia together. But I was not going to be a twin dyspeptic with anybody.
"I hope I have got one now," I returned, "but I am not going on the roof to shout about it. Every one ought to keep their liver dark, and then the vile thing wouldn't be a nuisance to every one else."
He only laughed again. I am afraid he had read a lot of medical books and knew far too much about the colour of things, but I do really believe that I did him some good, for apart from seeing him put extraordinary pieces of paper on his tongue and look very concerned when they revealed whatever secret they have to reveal, he never talked intimately to me again about his complaints, and as time went on he laughed at himself, which was very wholesome of him.
Six weeks of the term had passed before I thought of fulfilling the promise I made to my father, and when the time drew near for me to speak at our college debating society, if I meant to do so, I became extremely nervous. There was only one more meeting of the society during that term, and the subject for debate was, "The modern novel has a depressing and decaying influence upon the mind of the British nation." Lambert, who spoke very fluently and not at all to the point, was booked to speak first at this debate, and any one who knew him could see his magnificent style in the way the motion was drawn up. He revelled in alliteration, and I should think that he preferred subjects which were more general than particular, for he had on one occasion come hopelessly to grief at a debate on French politics, and had to hide his confusion by saying that no one could be expected to take an interest in a Latin nation, which made some people think that he was more stupid than he really was.
I resolved to support the modern novel, not because I knew much about it, but because I did not intend to be on the same side as Lambert, and I went to the Union and listened to a debate in which two men from Cambridge spoke and one man from London. Speaking seemed to be easy to these people, but perhaps the presence of the London man—he was very distinguished—acted as a check to orators who were not quite sure of themselves. At any rate the distinguished man made a great impression, he deplored the spread of taste among the lower classes, and he was very sad and eloquent about organized excursions which he said consisted chiefly of meals. To my mind he went on deploring far too long, for if anybody does remember Rome by what he had for dinner there, and forgets everything about Venice except his tea, his temporary absence from England is not exactly a disaster, and the Italians are glad to have him. Craddock of Balliol, who spoke before the man from London, was crushed for dealing with the subject in a frivolous manner, but I was not persuaded that a serious debate about English Tourists would make them any less humorous or plentiful. That debate did me good in one way, for I was so angry with this man of distinction that I wished I could have told him what I thought, and for three consecutive mornings I addressed an imaginary audience while I was having my bath. But if my remarks had been made at the Union I am afraid they would have caused a tumult, they were more suited to the House of Commons, where, if the worst happens, you have the consolation of being led out by a dignified official, and can read about your departure in the newspapers of the following morning. I was so worried about my speech that I mentioned it to several men, and most of them said that they would come to the debate, which was the last thing I wanted them to do. I had, however, to go through with it, so I consoled myself by the thought that I couldn't be duller than some of the people whom I had heard speaking at our debates; but when I went into the common room and found a larger crowd of men there than I had ever seen at a previous meeting, I wished that I had never come near the place. Before Lambert spoke we had to go through a lot of private business, which consisted chiefly of attempts by the college wags to be funny. Some men cultivate the special form of humour which shines at private business, but on this occasion all our wags were either absent or silent, and the President and Secretary of the debating society had a very peaceful evening.
When Lambert got up to pulverize the modern novel a great many men, who had only come in for a rag, left the room, but Dennison, Webb and some others who knew that I intended to speak, remained, and I made up my mind that they should wait a very long time if they meant to hear me. There was not a trace of nervousness about Lambert; he shot his cuffs, stroked his upper lip with one finger, and was really rather a comical figure, though I should think that every one was not so much amused at the things he said as at his magnificent manner while saying them, for he had nothing new to say about the influence of popular fiction. He referred to authors who draw their inspiration from the Bible in terms of lordly condescension, and then, changing his manner suddenly, he spoke of the rise and fall of Stratford-upon-Avon in such mournful tones that any one who did not know him might have imagined that he was on the verge of tears.
No speech of his, however, was complete without a peroration, and on this evening he surpassed himself. "You," he began, "who buy books without a thought of what you are buying, who are guided in your taste for fiction by the advertisements and buy a novel with as little care as you would buy a pair of scissors, who think, if you ever think, and I have already said that you do not, that because there are fifty thousand tasteless people in the world there is no reason why you should not swell that crowd, you are responsible for the decay of the novel. Traditions are dying, helped to their death by prize competitions and personal paragraphs, and Oxford is the home of tradition, for Oxford was invented before Eton. We care no longer for what is best but for what is most talked about, in our fiction we look for scandals and not for literature, and unless there is a reaction the man who can blush will become a curiosity, fit only for exhibition on the Music Hall stage or in the Zoological Gardens. It is a serious matter. The Philistines must be met and routed, we know that of old this was their usual fate, it seems to have been the chief reason for their existence. For my part I think a day ill-spent in which I have not read a few pages of Fielding or Thackeray. I have the most kindly feelings towards Dickens, Jane Austen and George Eliot, and when I am tired I write little things myself."
He sat down and looked blandly in front of him; if he had been less pleased with himself he would not have been anything like so amusing.
A senior man called Ransome got up to defend the modern novel, and the debate at once became serious. In about five minutes Ransome would have made most men feel crushed and unhappy, but Lambert only spread out his legs and shut his eyes. Ransome was not only a good speaker but also one of the cleverest men in the 'Varsity, and he scored time after time without disturbing Lambert's equanimity. I think that Lambert's enormous and somnolent bulk must have annoyed Ransome, for he went on to make an attack which was virulently sarcastic. In his speech Lambert had been foolish enough to say nothing in favour of modern novels, he had taken it for granted that all of them were bad, and Ransome fastening on this accused him of never having heard of George Meredith and Thomas Hardy, and he finished by appealing to us not to be guided in our tastes and opinions by a man whose assumptions were based on tremendous ignorance.
After Ransome had finished Lambert woke up, which was silly of him, but I must admit that he looked exactly as if he had been roused from a deep sleep. A number of men spoke, and most of them said something which I had intended to say, until there was very little of my speech left which could sound original. As each man sat down, Dennison and Webb had the impertinence to shout "Marten," but they were always called to order by the President, who was in no hurry to hear my maiden effort. Collier, who had not come to hear me from inclination but a sense of duty, dozed peacefully in a corner, a number of men recorded their votes and left the room, the President yawned prodigiously, and the Secretary looked as if he had got a headache. If I intended to speak before Lambert replied to all the criticisms passed upon him, my time had come. I got up as quietly as I could, but I was greeted with so much applause that I felt quite embarrassed. Jack Ward had come in from dining somewhere, and when he saw Dennison and Webb clapping because they expected to be amused, he resolved to make more row than they did. I could not complain of my reception, but why I received it is not worth discussing. However the mere sight of Dennison made me determined not to make a fool of myself and I got rid of my first sentence without a hitch, and then I was all right for some time because the walls of my bedder had heard my speech very often and I knew it well. Jack Ward kept on applauding violently, he meant well but he did it in the most awkward places, and he made me forget one thing which Foster had provided. Dennison laughed a little, but he had to wait before he got an opportunity of trying to make me appear especially ridiculous.
"We read too much and think too little," I said, and this was the opening of a sentence which had caused me a lot of trouble until Murray helped me to put it right, but Dennison saw his chance and interrupted me by saying, "We talk too much and think too little, is what you mean," which was an exasperating remark when I had very nearly finished without any bother. So I turned round and told him that I could say what I liked without asking him. The President shouted "Order," but he looked too sleepy to care much what happened.
"At any rate I suppose you cribbed it from last week'sSpectator, and I know it was 'Talk too much,' because I saw it."
"If Mr. Marten thinks he can improve upon anything taken from theSpectatorhe is at perfect liberty to do so," the President said very sarcastically, and I felt badly scored off.
"It's all very well," I said to him, "but these interruptions have made me forget where I have got to."
"About the bottom of your second cuff, I should think," Dennison called out, and I could not stand that libel, so I addressed the rest of my speech to him. It was, at any rate, fluent, and although the President tried to stop me I had a merry if short innings before I finished. Dennison was too much for me, he never lost his temper while I was so angry that I forget exactly what happened, but when I met the President in the quad on the following morning and apologized to him, he was kind enough to say that he hoped I should speak again during the next term, although as he would be reading hard he was afraid that he would not have the pleasure of hearing me. He was a curious man, and I could not help wondering whether he would have wished me to speak if he had not been too busy to listen, but I did not care to risk asking him that question.
The Lent Term at Oxford is rather a dull one for men who do not row, run, or play soccer. In my time golfers were thought dull whether they played golf or only talked about it. I did run in our college sports because Collier said I wouldn't, and Collier ran because I said he couldn't, the result was that we competed in a half-mile handicap in which he received the munificent start of eighty-five yards, while I had to worry through the whole distance with the exception of twenty yards. Collier bet me five shillings that he would defeat me in that race, and I thought I had found an easy way of making a little money, but a half-mile is a long distance for two men without much wind, and when I caught Collier up about two hundred yards from the finish we agreed to cancel our bet and walk to the pavilion. Collier could not speak without gasping for a quarter of an hour, and then he expressed the determination of retiring permanently from the running path.
The summer term at Oxford would be even more pleasant than it is if it did not start in April and finish when the summer is just beginning. I do not wish to say anything about weather, but without taking an interest in the abnormal quantities of rain or wanting to know why the sun shines so seldom, I do think that if the success of a term depends largely upon an English May, it is apt to be very limited. I have been told so often by quite truthful men that there are other people besides undergraduates to be considered in Oxford, that I have never felt so convinced about anything, except that Queen Anne is dead; but all the same it seems to me that the undergraduate is not given a chance of being comfortably warm for any length of time. And if the authorities who fix the terms, or if they like it better, the academical year, would understand that an undergraduate is a far nicer man when he is comfortable, they might be inclined to cease from compelling him to play cricket when it is impossible to think of anything but the biting wind.
For my own part I am certain that I have never wanted to break rules or windows when the sun shines, but some men, when they become depressed by the weather, turn their thoughts to throwing things about, and there are so many windows in a quad that wherever you throw you seem to hit one of them. The only window I smashed was not entirely my fault, for Ward ducked his head just as a tennis-ball was going to hit it; the Subby, however, who was trying to instil logic into a lot of pass "mods" men, was annoyed by broken glass falling into his lecture-room. This was a bad beginning to the summer term, but had it not rained for nearly two days I should have been playing cricket that morning, and if Ward's head had happened to be in front of the Subby's lecture-room I should not have been there to throw at it. I tried to explain this to the Subby, but there is a certain kind of reasoning which does not make much impression on either dons or schoolmasters. I asked him if he thought any man who was booked to play cricket all day could sit down at once and work when he heard that his match was scratched, and he answered, "Undoubtedly." The Subby was a nice enough man in some ways, but in others he was simply hopeless. He was not so absolutely unapproachable as Mr. Edwardes, for although you had got to imagine for all you were worth you could think of him as an "undergrad," but when Murray and I tried to persuade ourselves that Mr. Edwardes had once been only twenty years old we wasted our time, and Murray told me that I was always trying to do impossible things.
Oxford, however, is a good place when you are only playing at summer, and it is really splendid if you are lucky enough to have a fine May and early June. I went back there full of enthusiasm, I meant to do a hundred things, but I am afraid my programme was a little too full; to carry it out successfully I required the co-operation of the Subby and Mr. Edwardes, and no one but an enthusiast, or a fool, would have thought he was likely to get it. My experiences with Mr. Edwardes during my second term had been placidly uneventful, but they had been gained by very great effort on my part, and they did not seem to have been worth the effort, since my tutor was almost as great an iceberg at the end of the term as he had been at the beginning. He could not thaw, but I never found out that until I had spent many unsuccessful interviews with him. I thought after going through one term without offending him that I was what golfers, I believe, would call "one up," and I felt that it would be an easy matter to increase my score, but I made a great mistake. Mr. Edwardes did not realize in the least that cricket is a very important and tiring game. I told him frankly that I wanted to enjoy myself during my first summer term, and that if my work was neglected a little I hoped he would understand the reason. He failed to understand it, and instead of being pleased with my candour, he took up a sort of pouncing attitude. He was fairly on the look-out, and when a don gets into that state it is not likely he is going to watch for nothing.
In the freshers' match Foster and I were on opposite sides, which seemed to me a very poor kind of arrangement even before we began, and what I thought of it after the match was over is not worth saying. The weather on the first day of the game was never intended for cricket, and I have very rarely seen a nose glow quite so gorgeously as the umpire who no-balled me twice in my first over. I actually began the bowling, though I think the reason for this honour must have been that Cross of Magdalen, who was secretary to the 'Varsity XI. and captained our side, knew my name. Foster and Henderson began the batting, and my first ball which was supposed to be directed at Foster's wicket was a most abominable wide, the second and third he hit to the boundary, the fourth was a no-ball, and I really forget what happened after that, but I know that it was the sort of over which seemed as if it would never end. I had not been no-balled before, and this unexpected misfortune made my bowling quite comically bad. Cross kept me on for seven overs, because as I heard him say afterwards he thought the beginning was too bad to be true. Foster made 128 and Henderson 93, I got one wicket for 78 runs, but the man I got out was not supposed to be a batsman, and he confided to me as we went back to the pavilion that his highest score for his school during the last season had been 5. This information on the top of my inglorious performance was really rather trying; he might, I thought, have kept it to himself, but he had made 11 and was unduly elated. Their side made 358, and our two innings only totalled 301; I went in last, with the exception of Cross, and made such furiously ineffective efforts to hit some leg-breaks, that Rushden of New College, who was a most serious cricketer and captain of the 'Varsity XI., was compelled to laugh. But I did land one ball into the shrubbery, which was the only moment during the match when I felt that cricket in a cold wind was worth playing. After it was all over, however, I was delighted that Fred had started so well, and it did not surprise me at all when I saw that my name was not down to play for the Sixteen Freshmen against the 'Varsity XI.; in fact I should have been very surprised if Rushden had not made up his mind about me. Both Fred and Henderson did well in this second trial match and were chosen to play for the Varsity against the M.C.C., while I went back to college cricket and lived upon what reputation I had brought from Cliborough for quite three weeks. I could not get any wickets however much I tried until we played Pembroke, who were not exactly a strong batting side, and to make things easier for me they had their three best men away. After this match I got my college colours, but I am afraid that it is doubtful if I deserved them.
Jack Ward played for the College XI., but his best scores were made for the St. Cuthbert's Busters, who played villages round Oxford, and were not very depressed if they were beaten. Collier, Lambert and Dennison also played for the Busters, and a kind of truce had been patched up between Jack and Dennison, because Jack said that it was too much trouble to keep up a quarrel with any one whom he was always meeting, and Dennison was at that time so occupied with other schemes that he treated Jack as if he was his dearest friend.
Some senior men in the college were getting very dissatisfied with the state of it, for they said that it was all right to have an occasional rag if we had anything to rag about; but as we did not seem able to row, play footer or cricket, we had better keep quiet. They did nothing except talk, and Dennison played up to them with all his might; he had got his half-blue for racquets, and they, not knowing him as well as Jack, Collier and I did, thought that he was really keen on the college. But, as a matter of fact, he howled with laughter when our torpid went down six places, and said that if men were fools enough to row they deserved to be laughed at, whatever happened to them.
No one wants to belong to a college which can do nothing but howl at night, since the greatest slackers in the 'Varsity howl the loudest. Dennison worked hard for popularity among senior men, but he cared nothing for the college, and several of the freshers knew that if he got a set round him who intended to manage the place, St. Cuthbert's was doomed as far as athletics were concerned. He was made for some college which is in the habit of having only one blue every ten years or so, and may possibly treat him as if he is a very fine specimen when they have got him.
We could not help doing well in the schools, because we always had scholars who took Firsts with beautiful regularity; but no one thought very much about it, since it was a thing to which every one in the 'Varsity was accustomed.
Even Fred Foster told me that it was a pity St. Cuthbert's was going downhill so fast; but apart from being angry there was nothing for me to do, except wait. Our dons, taken in the mass, wanted us to work and be quiet; they did not care what happened to our eight or our eleven, and when a man got his blue he was generally told that he must not allow it to interfere with his reading. Unless dons meet undergraduates half-way a college is bound, sooner or later, to suffer; but a little humanity can do wondrous things. During my first year the Warden was the only don who was kind to me, and though I liked him so much that I forgave him for not appreciating the difference between bumping and being bumped, I must confess that his kindness was of a peculiar kind. St. Cuthbert's, in the opinion of the 'Varsity, had begun to go down rapidly, and we got very little sympathy from anybody outside the college. The outlook was gloomy enough, for I was bound to have rows with Mr. Edwardes as long as I had anything to do with him, and if I could have been of any use in trying to improve things, I knew that unless some new dons came I should have to spend most of my time in looking after myself. I wished that Fred had come to St. Cuthbert's, for Murray was too quiet to do anything, Collier was too sleepy, and Jack Ward seemed to be as happy-go-lucky as I was.
It looked as if Dennison was bound to win in the long run, for he was a thousand times cleverer at getting what he wanted than any of us, and he had the great advantage of knowing what he did want. His aim, I knew, was to be the leader of a set who gambled and yelled and played games which he thought were fit for bloods to play. Slackness during the day and liveliness at night were briefly his programme, and though it is all very well to be lively at night, it seemed to some of us that if we were to sink to the bottom of the river and care nothing for the reputation of the college, we were in for a very bad time. By nature both Jack Ward and I were cheerful, and if it had not been for hating Dennison I don't think that I should have wanted to check my cheerfulness. As it was, I had a vague sort of feeling that what Dennison liked must be wrong.
I saw Dennison as seldom as I could, but Jack Ward came to me one morning when there was no college match, and when I had nothing to do which could not conveniently be put off, to ask me to play for the Busters. Somebody had scratched at the last moment, and even if I had not wanted to play I should have found a difficulty in resisting Jack.
We drove seven miles to a village called Burlington, and had great difficulty in finding the wicket when we arrived, but our driver had been there before, and insisted on us getting out by a field which looked as if it might produce a bountiful crop of hay. Lambert—who had talked a lot about being asked to play for his county—pretended to be very disgusted, and strode about as if he owned the whole place; we had to be very rude to him, so that we might prevent him from hurting the feelings of the Burlington men.
In the middle of the field a small space had been mown, and the pitch itself, apart from a few holes, was not at all bad, but Bagshaw, who was captaining the Busters, decided at once that he should keep wicket because he did not want to stand up to his knees in grass. The captain of the Burtington team was the local publican, a hearty man who told us in the same breath that he was very glad to see us, and that he had played cricket for thirty years, boy and man. His name was Plumb, and I liked him very much; he played in both braces and a belt, because he told us belts were ticklish things and braces sometimes burst. I answered that it was always well to be on the safe side, and we had quite a confidential talk, until Lambert and Dennison came up and interrupted us. Lambert began to complain about the long grass, and I was afraid Mr. Plumb might be offended, but I expect he had seen a good many people like Lambert, and he only smiled compassionately at him.
"You see it's like this," he said, "this damp, not to call it a wet spring, has made this yer grass grow, and what I say is that weather that is good for farmers up to June is bad for us cricketers. But, bless me, there's nothing to complain of here—I've played cricket in some funny places if you like, and many a dap on the side of the head I've had in my time."
"This man," Dennison remarked, pointing at me, "is a very fast bowler."
Mr. Plumb shut one eye and looked at me with interest. "Then," he said, "I think you had better bowl up the hill; I have seen them kick a bit at the other end, nothing to speak of, but Bill Higgs got his nose cut open come next Saturday three weeks; he's a fast bowler if you like, I've seen Spofforth and I've seen Mold, but for pace give me Bill Higgs."
"Is he playing to-day?" Lambert asked as unconcernedly as he could.
"Oh yes, he's playing, he's the terror of the neighbourhood. There he is, the tall man, he's our policeman when he's not playing cricket. My eye, his arms are like tree-trunks," and Mr. Plumb left us and walked over to talk to Bill Higgs, but I am not at all sure that he did not wink at me before he went.
"You didn't score much there," I said to Dennison.
"Cricket isn't good enough in these outlandish holes," he answered, and seized Collier to tell him about Bill Higgs. Lambert went off hastily to get a drink, and was not seen again until Bagshaw had won the toss and decided to go in.
We began our innings with Lambert and Collier, and Bagshaw could not have chosen a funnier pair. There was some difficulty in getting them ready, for Collier had left his pads behind, and we had a desperate job to find any which were large enough to fit him, while Lambert was so engaged in persuading us that Higgs on a bumping wicket was nothing to a man who had been asked to play for his county that at one time he had lost both his bat and his gloves. Before they started Collier insisted on tossing to see who should have first ball, and when he won Lambert said it was of no consequence as he had always meant to have the first ball. The Burtington XI. waited patiently, and threw catches to each other with extraordinary violence, but although Mr. Plumb had announced that Higgs would begin the bowling, the terror of the neighbourhood had not allowed us to see how fast he bowled. There was an air of mystery about Higgs, which the nine of us who were not at the wickets found very entertaining, though Dennison, who was in next, looked anxious.
When our batsmen had got to the wickets it seemed as if the game would never begin, for Lambert took guard three times and looked round the ground so often to see where the fielders were placed that two or three of the Burtington men from sheer weariness began to turn somersaults. Higgs stood with the ball in his hand and talked to Collier, he knew that he was a great man and was quite unmoved by Lambert's little tricks. At last there was no excuse for waiting any longer, and the umpire, after Lambert had refused to have a trial ball, which I suppose he thought would have been an undignified thing for him to do, called "Play." The mystery was solved immediately, Higgs bowled very fast underhand, the kind of ball which is correctly termed a "sneak," but unfortunately for Lambert the first one was straight and his bat was still in the air when his middle stump was knocked to the ground. The Burtington XI. seemed to me to take this beginning as a matter-of-course, and started throwing catches to each other without even troubling to applaud Higgs. Lambert walked very slowly from the wickets, and when he got back to us he was smiling in his most magnificently contemptuous manner.
"I thought you asked me to play cricket," he said to Bagshaw. "I keep a special bat for that sort of bowling, and I did not want to smash this one."
He sat down on the grass, but we were all so suffocated by laughter that none of us could condole with him, and if any one had ventured to say "Bad luck," I am sure Lambert would have treated him with scorn.
Dennison had two balls which did not bowl him, but Higgs made no mistake with the next one, and the Burlington men played catch once more. In the end we managed to make 33, though hardly any of the runs were made off Higgs, and twelve of them came from two balls which were lost quite close to the wickets. Nine of the Burtington men made 18 runs, for Collier bowled very straight until he got hopelessly out of breath, and then Bagshaw, who laughed all the time Collier was bowling, would not take him off, though the wretched man was panting like a grampus. "This last fellow is sure to be a 'sitter,'" Bagshaw said, "here is Collier's chance to bowl right through an innings, I don't suppose he has ever done it before."
But Collier, who was searching after breath and not troubling about records, was indignant with Bagshaw, and when Lambert, who said that the sun was in his eyes, missed two catches off consecutive balls, Collier said something to him at the end of the over which disturbed the harmony of our XI. for several minutes. Unfortunately the last Burtington batsman was more of a wag than a "sitter," he was the funny man of the team, and was so delighted with his own wit that Bagshaw said it would be a shame not to let him enjoy himself.
"Every village team has its funny man," he said, "and we are jolly lucky to get him in last." I am sure Bagshaw was what is called a good sportsman, but he was too kind to be a good captain. I thought Sam Jenks was a harmless idiot when he came in with only one pad, and that on the wrong leg, but by the time he had fooled us out of eight or nine runs I was simply sick to death of him. Lambert stated in a loud voice that it was not cricket, and Collier, who was most completely disorganized both in body and temper, retorted that if it had been cricket Lambert would not have been playing; while Sam, who in some ways was not such an ass as he tried to make out, played the next ball slowly to Lambert at short leg, and ran down the pitch exhorting him to throw it at Collier's head as soon as he got hold of it. Possibly this advice, combined with a natural inability to stoop quickly, made Lambert even slower than usual in picking up the ball, but when he did pick it up he threw it violently at the wicket to which Sam was running. There was some doubt whether he threw at Sam or at the wickets, but he missed whatever he intended to hit and the ball went yards away into the long grass, where it remained until four runs had been made and Burtington had won the match.
Immediately afterwards Sam fell over his wickets in trying to make a stylish stroke with one leg poised in the air, and an excursion of Burtingtonians, headed by Mr. Plumb, sallied forth and carried him shoulder-high to the tent, where he was given much refreshment.
One or two men on our side tried to persuade Bagshaw that there was plenty of time left to make as many runs as we wanted and to get the Burtington men out again, but when Mr. Plumb was told what we were talking about he came out of the tent and joined us. He was inclined to be elated, and seizing Bagshaw by the arm said he should like to have a word with him. They walked away from the rest of us, and, as a friend of Mr. Plumb's, I went with them.
"Cricket is cricket, that's what I say, sir," Mr. Plumb began, and Bagshaw, whose manners were perfectly splendid, assented without a smile.
"But in this yer little village there are what the parson calls local considerations, which I as captain of this team have got to consider."
Bagshaw inquired quite patiently what these considerations were.
"Well, it's like this, I keep The Reindeer, and the parson he's a teetotaller, not one of those stumping men who think because they drink nothing nobody else ought to, but what I should call broad-minded for a man who drinks nothing but water. Now what the parson says to me is this: 'You give these young gentlemen luncheon for which they pays half-a-crown ahead, and it's worth it, and my missis drives up in the pony-cart at five and gives everybody tea.' It's like a bargain, you understand."
Bagshaw understood most thoroughly and tried to stop the flow of Mr. Plumb's conversation, but that excellent captain talked on for another five minutes, until two of our men who knew Bagshaw better than I did, took upon themselves to walk to the wickets. Then Mr. Plumb began to collect his men, which seemed to be a difficult matter, and it was half-past four before we began again. At five o'clock tea was ready and the game was interrupted for so long that we gave up all thoughts of winning it, but I heard afterwards from the parson himself that as a general rule only the batting side had tea and the other XI. had to take their chance of getting some. I believe we should have won that match if Mr. Plumb had captained our side, but the Busters were generally beaten, which possibly accounted for the fact that most of the villages round Oxford said they were a splendid eleven. No team which contained Lambert could help being splendid, but as regards cricket we were the most futile side it is possible to imagine, and Bagshaw, who was a really good sort, was also exactly the right man to captain it.
In our second innings Lambert made nine runs, which was not a great score for a man who said he had been asked to play for his county, but was unfortunately enough to make him very pleased with himself, and when he got into that state of mind he was a dangerous man, for he always wanted to do something which was better left undone. On this occasion he persuaded Jack Ward that a little dinner at The Reindeer would be the most sporting way of finishing the evening, and I have never seen any one support a suggestion more heartily than Mr. Plumb did this one of Lambert's. He had a couple of beautiful ducklings waiting to be cooked, some lamb which would be wasted upon any one but real gentlemen, and some port which would make our hair curl. Collier listened to this and thought it too good to miss, so he backed up Lambert, and Ward, who did not seem enthusiastic over the hair-curling port, said he would stay if I would. There were good reasons why I should not stay and I mentioned them one by one, but although in the lump they ought to have been enough to stop me, when mentioned singly they did not seem to be very important. Ward, however, saw that I did not want to stay, and he was on the point of chucking up the whole thing when Dennison said to Mr. Plumb, "You see, some of us are frightened to death of the dons; it is a fairly rotten state to be in, because we daren't call our lives our own."
That remark was directed at me, and if I had been sensible I should have taken no notice of it, but unluckily I am one of those wretched people who hate to hear that I am frightened of anybody or anything, and for Dennison to tell Mr. Plumb such silly nonsense made me furious. Of course I said that I would stay, and I saw Dennison wink at Lambert; the brute was for ever scoring off me, he had a most unrighteous way of getting what he wanted.
For some reason or other Bagshaw was always very decent to me, and when he heard that Ward, Dennison, Collier, Lambert and I were going to finish the evening at The Reindeer he asked me to come home in the brake, but that gibe of Dennison's was heavy upon me and I had determined to stick to my promise and do whatever came my way. I did not expect that the evening was going to be anything but a rowdy one, for when Lambert did undertake a thing he went at it most zealously. First of all he got Ward to wire and ask Bunny Langham to drive over about ten o'clock and fetch us all back, and then he asked four or five of the most comical people in the Burtington team to come to The Reindeer after dinner and help at a smoking concert. All of the Burtington team came and a number of their friends, in fact I should think that nearly all the labourers in the village were entertained by us during the evening. Mr. Plumb began by being very pleased, and the evening ended in what local newspapers call "harmony," which is the most polite way of saying that any one sang who liked and that the discord was something terrible. I sang a solo, the first and last time I have ever done such a thing, but I was rapturously applauded by an audience who were more kind and thirsty than critical. My song was "Tom Bowling," at least Ward said it was more like "Tom Bowling" than anything else.
At half-past ten Bunny Langham had not come, and by some means or other it was necessary that we should reach Oxford before twelve o'clock. Dennison suggested that we should have a "go-as-you-please" contest back to St. Cuthbert's, but Collier was not disposed to enter for a race in which he was bound to be last, and told us that if we were fools enough to go seven miles in an hour and a half, he would trouble us to rout up some don when we got back to college and say that he had been taken seriously unwell in Burlington, but hoped to be better in the morning. A man, who called himself a veterinary surgeon, but was described by Mr. Plumb as a cow-doctor, said he would give Collier a certificate of ill-health; I do not remember from what disease he was supposed to be suffering. The idea, however, of rushing seven miles as hard as we could was crushed by Lambert, who was in a kind of "coach and four" mood and very abusive. He secured Mr. Plumb and having pushed him into a corner stated that he required a pair of horses and a wagonette, but Mr. Plumb was not in a condition to be addressed in terms of authority. His sense of importance had been increasing as the evening went on, and from being a most innocently amusing man he had become an obstinate and bibulous publican. He would have nothing to say to Lambert and declared that getting to Oxford was our business and that we ought to have thought about it before. The best thing to do with such a man was to leave him to the remorse of the following morning, but Lambert had an insane desire to talk and, I must admit, a forcible way of talking. There seemed to be a reasonable chance of a row, for Mr. Plumb wasn't without supporters who were as tired of us as we were of them, but Jack Ward managed to get hold of the cow-doctor and persuaded him to find some vehicle to help us on our way. As soon as Mr. Plumb heard of this he declared that the cow-doctor was taking the bread out of his mouth, but Ward told him if that was the case he ought to have another drink, and after having it he became comatose and unobstructive.
Finally we started from The Reindeer at eleven o'clock in a light farm-cart, Ward and Dennison sitting on the seat with the driver, while Collier, Lambert and I sat on the floor of the conveyance. Lambert, when not singing Bacchanalian songs, complained of the indignity and discomfort of this performance, but I, having taken the precaution of propping myself against Collier, who was accustomed to being used as a cushion and very kind about it, was more sleepy than uncomfortable. Besides, men who begin to think of being dignified towards midnight are a nuisance, so I told Lambert he was a speechless idiot, which statement I found to be positively untrue.
We had reached the outskirts of Oxford, and even Lambert had passed from the state of song and abuse to that of sleep, when the cart was drawn up with such a jerk that my head collided with Collier's, and I heard Ward say—
"Why, Bunny, what the blazes are you doing here at this time of night?" and Bunny answered with no unnecessary length, "Walking."
"But why?" Ward said.
"Exercise. Any room for another pig in the bottom of that cart?"
"Jump up, quick," Ward answered, "it is a quarter to twelve, and jolly lucky there is a moon or I should have missed you."
Bunny said that he was not going to hurry for any one, and wasted two or three valuable minutes before we got him safely into the cart. He was in an exceedingly bad temper, and it was only by dint of innumerable questions that we found that he had actually started to drive to Burtington and that something disastrous had happened on the journey. The exact nature of that disaster none of us ever discovered, but what Bunny wished us to believe was that he went to sleep and was driven into by a furniture van, and since he had been kind enough to start to Burtington we should have been a complete set of bounders if we had not suppressed Dennison when he said that no one was likely to believe such a tale as that. Anybody with a grain of decency could see that Bunny had been having a very bad time, and though we all thanked him tremendously when we got out at St. Cuthbert's, and told the driver to take him on to Christchurch as fast as he could, he just sat in the bottom of the cart and said nothing.
"I am afraid Bunny's ill," Ward said to me as soon as we got into college, and we blamed ourselves for not seeing him to "The House," though had we done so we could not have got back to St. Cuthbert's until a quarter-past twelve.
On the following morning Ward went round to see Bunny and found him drinking beer with his breakfast, which was a thing he never dared to do unless he felt aggressively well. Ward lunched with me and said that Bunny was all right except that his feelings were in a state of disorder.
"There is only one thing he is conceited about and that is his driving," Ward explained, "and last night he was driving a cob which a baby in arms could steer. Well, Bunny got upset, and is so ashamed of himself that he is angry with everybody else. He will be all right by dinner-time if he is left alone."