The collapse of the Hedonists placed me in a very curious position, for by some freak of fortune an idea spread through the 'Varsity that I had been responsible for it, and whenever I went to Vincent's I was always button-holed by men who asked me to tell them what had happened. It was almost as bad as Nina falling into the "Cher," for a tale thirty times told is as flavourless as sauce kept in an uncorked bottle. I could not say that Murray was the man to explain the whole thing, for he was most extraordinarily anxious that his name should not be mentioned. I thought that he carried discretion beyond the bounds of decency, but Jack said that if it had not been for him we should never have made a fool of Dennison, and this was so far true that I stopped myself from making one or two forcible remarks. The immediate result of our procession was that a great many people seemed to be incoherently angry. I had interviews with both the Warden and the Subby, and I am sorry to say that our porter had told them that I had hit him in the ribs. I had done nothing of the kind, but it was necessary that he should be taken for a short walk, and I did put my arm through his and keep myself between him and the donkey until it was safely in the quad. I am sure that the Warden understood that I would not hit any one in the ribs, and I think his annoyance was due chiefly to the fact that some one had told a reporter a lot of things which were not true, and there were accounts of the Hedonists in some of the London papers. But the fact of a donkey being in our quad had got on the Subby's nerves, and he gated me for a month without listening to what I had to say. He also told me that I ought to consider myself very lucky not to be sent down for the term. Several other men, including Dennison, were gated for a fortnight, and I had great difficulty in keeping Jack from going to the Subby, to ask him if he would not do something to him. It was very silly of Jack to think of pushing himself into this row, but instead of thanking his stars that he had not been seen, he was furious with me when I told him to keep away from the Subby; and a lot of other men in St. Cuthbert's who would have been glad to help in squashing Dennison, were angry because they had never been told of our plans.
Collier, who had not been gated, told me by way of comfort that virtue is its own reward, but if this is true, I really think that virtue is badly handicapped, and that those who practise it should get something more substantial to satisfy them. I began to think that if ever there was another attempt to do anything for the college I should be too busy to take any part in it. There was, however, one thing which cheered me during these days of bad temper, and that was a report that Dennison and Lambert were vowing vengeance upon me. I hoped most sincerely that they would try to do something, for I should have received them with pleasure. But their threats never came to anything, for as the days passed by and every one knew how completely they had been scored off, their desire for revenge seemed to wane. Ridicule smothered them, and try as they would to live it down, their influence, as far as the college was concerned, disappeared entirely. Some of the set pulled themselves up and became more or less silent, while others continued to shriek at night, and to go to the theatre for the purpose of making a row, which seems to me to be nearly the end of all things.
In a week the Hedonists were almost forgotten, and when the storm had blown over, Murray was not so anxious that I should have all the credit of having caused it. But by that time no one cared to know who had thought of preparing Thornton for the dinner, and Murray treated me as if I had robbed him of something. I think he must have been working too hard, or suffering from some secret illness, for I had already told a hundred men that it was not in me to make a plot of any kind, and that if I had been responsible for this one it would never have been successful. Murray's indignation came too late to have any effect, and as I thought he was quite unreasonable I made no attempt to pacify him.
After things had settled down again no one could help seeing that the fall of Dennison and his friends had done no end of good to the college. The men who can be only described as absolute slackers do not often get the chance of having any influence in a college, but for some reason or other Dennison had become the fashion among a certain set in St. Cuthbert's, and if we were ever to do anything properly again it was time for the fashion to change. There are many ways of making yourself conspicuous in Oxford, and Dennison chose the one which the majority of men never have been able to put up with. I think St. Cuthbert's during my first two years had most unusually bad luck; we were suffering, like the agricultural interest, from years of depression, and we tobogganed down the hill instead of trying to pull ourselves to the top of it again. I suppose other colleges have their troubles, but while I was at Oxford no college had such a desperate struggle as St. Cuthbert's.
My interviews with The Bradder during the first two or three weeks of this term were most strictly business-like. I was afraid that he would speak to me of the Hedonists, and as I had no intention of saying a word to him about them I never stayed with him longer than I could possibly help. Dons, however, find out things without asking undergraduates, and the man who imagines that they are not troubling themselves about him is in danger of having rather a rude awakening, if he happens to be doing things which do not please them. Our dons must have known all about Dennison, and I believe they fixed their eyes most steadfastly upon him. At any rate, his father, who was a barrister, must have heard something, because he paid a surprise visit to Oxford. There is something horribly mean about surprise visits, whatever information may be got from them, and for the first time in my life I felt a little sympathy for Dennison.
Whether his father thought this visit successful or not I do not know, but he certainly found out a lot in a short time and came to a very definite decision. He called on Dennison at ten o'clock and found him sleeping, he called again at twelve o'clock with the same result; at one o'clock he discovered him sitting at breakfast in his dressing-gown. Lambert was unfortunate enough to hear some of the interview which followed, and he said that Dennison's defence was very clever, but that he broke down under cross-examination.
"I have never seen such a man as old Dennison," I heard Lambert telling some one in the common-room; "he looked like a piece of marble, and when I went in and wanted to bolt he treated me as if I was an office-boy, and said that as he believed I was a particular friend of his son's it would do me good to stay. The worst of it was that Dennison wasn't very well, and was having a pick-me-up with his brekker. He wasn't in bed until four this morning, so it's no wonder he didn't look very fit."
On the following afternoon Dennison left Oxford; he was not sent down by the dons, but had to go for the simple reason that his father said he would not let him stay any longer. His friends took him down to the station, and there was a procession of cabs and a noise, but I am sure that there was a feeling of relief in the college when he had gone. Jack and I told each other that we were sorry that his end had come so suddenly, although if any one had asked me what I meant, I am sure that I could not have given any explanation. It is not very hard to guess what would have happened to him if his father had not acted as he did, and if you have to leave Oxford abruptly I should think the best way is to be hurried off by your people; it must save so many explanations when you get home.
What happened to Dennison I cannot say; somebody said that he was going round the world or on to the Stock Exchange, but Lambert denied both these reports, and declared that he had reformed so violently that he had become a teetotaler and intended to wear a blue riband in his button-hole. I doubted the blue riband part of the story, and if Dennison ever wore one I think it would only be on Boat-race day, for it takes a tremendous lot of courage to wear a badge of any kind.
After Dennison had disappeared, Jack and I saw The Bradder nearly every day. His keenness on the college increased instead of wearing off with time, and he seemed to be exactly the right kind of man to be a don. His energy was really terrific, and I received more goads than I could endure conveniently, so I passed some of them on to Jack and chose those which I liked the least, not, I am afraid, the ones which Jack might be inclined to receive with patience.
The Bradder persuaded me to join both a Shakespearian and a Browning Society, and as I could not plunge into such things by myself I dragged Jack with me. The Shakespearian Society was pleasant enough, but after two meetings of the Browningites Jack said flatly that he would not go again. Some of the Browning men objected to the windows being opened, and it is very difficult to keep awake in a stuffy room when you have been taking hard exercise in the afternoon. Jack, at any rate, snored so loudly at the second meeting that he shocked the President, and when he woke up he interrupted a discussion by giving a very fluent lecture on the advantages of ventilation. I expect that he would have been turned out of the society if he had not resigned, and I ought not to have dragged him into it, for he was so violently bored by the whole thing that he declared he must have a little pleasure to make him forget all about it.
"Something in the open air," he said to me, when he came to my rooms on the morning after he had snored, and he looked at a volume ofStubbs' Constitutional Historyas if he was very tired of it. I was also feeling rather dull, for I had already got through a fortnight of my gating, and to be kept in college after nine o'clock night after night is not very exciting.
"A little change is what we want," Jack went on, as I said nothing.
"I can't do much," I answered; "I'm gated and you have got to row."
"I've got a day off to-morrow; the stroke of my boat has to go to town and bow's ill."
"Why not have a day's hunting?" I asked.
"There is a little race-meeting down below Reading; you pulled me into that Browning thing and it is only fair for you to come to this."
"But I shan't be back in time."
"It's only about twenty miles beyond Reading, and there's no footer match, because I've looked to see. Let's get Bunny Langham and have a rest, it will do us all no end of good. Bunny is going in for politics—his father was President of the Union, and he has got to be, if he can. I should think that there are more Presidents of things in Oxford than any other place in the world, unless it's Cambridge; but Bunny will stick some of his own poetry into his speeches, and the men at the Union don't like it. You can tell him that if ever he expects to be President he must stop that game, he takes no notice of what I say about poetry. You'll come?"
We looked up trains and found out that we could be back by half-past six, so I said that I would go, and Jack went off to see Bunny Langham. As far as racing was concerned the Horndeane meeting was not very interesting, for there was not a close finish in any race which I saw, but if any one has a fancy for picking up very inexpensive horses I should advise them never to miss Horndeane.
I was strolling about with Bunny and Jack after one race, and saw the winner of it brought out for sale. It fetched a hundred and sixty guineas, and Jack said it was "dirt cheap." Then another horse was put up, and I was surprised to hear some one bid ten guineas. Such an offer seemed to me ridiculous for a race-horse, so without thinking, and just to help things on a bit, I said "eleven," and strolled on with Jack; but before we had gone far some one was asking my name, and another man was asking me what I wished him to do with the horse. So many questions bothered me, and I tried to explain that I had made a mistake when I had said "eleven," but it seemed as if such mistakes did not count for much.
"The horse is yours," one man said.
"And he's got the temper of a fiend," the other man added, "and I should like you to find some one to take him at once."
I was quite prepared to give him away if I could find any one foolish enough to have him, but Bunny wouldn't hear of it, and declared we would take him back to Oxford with us. "He may be a gold mine, who knows?" he said.
Jack laughed so much, that while I was surrounded by a lot of impatient people he was unable to help me at all, and I can tell those who have never had to suffer as I did, that to become an owner of a race-horse suddenly is a very awkward experience.
My brute was called "Thunderer," and the man who had got hold of him said that his name was the only good thing about him, for he roared like the sea. I wished heartily that some one would steal my horse, but every one seemed to be most distressingly anxious to keep as far away from him as possible.
I suppose Bunny knew all about racers, for in a few minutes he had arranged for a horse-box to be put on our train, and Thunderer disappeared. I seemed to spend the remainder of the afternoon in being asked for money by people who said they had done or were going to do something for me. I found that my exalted position brought many burdens with it, and I was very glad when we left the race-course. Unfortunately, however, we trusted to Bunny's watch, and when we got to the station, which was on a little branch line, our train to Reading had gone. There had been some bother about the horse-box, and the station-master and a number of people who took an unabating interest in me were quarrelling when we arrived. I sat down on a bench and left Bunny to talk to them; I have never been so tired of anything in my life.
Even if the next train was punctual we had to wait for an hour, and by no chance could we reach Oxford before half-past seven. We should have been annoyed in any case, but Jack and I were very irritated because the Mohocks were meeting that evening, and we had men dining with us. The only thing to do was to telegraph and ask some one to look after our guests until we came, but the station had no telegraph-office, and if we wanted to send a telegram we had to go down to the village.
A porter assured us that we could get to the post-office in ten minutes, and that the road was quite straight. I don't know what he was thinking about, possibly of a bicycle and daylight, for the way to the village needed a lot of finding, and it took us quite half-an-hour to reach the post-office. By that time a thick fog had risen. We tried, and failed, to get any kind of vehicle to take us back to the station, so we started to run and lost our way. The natural result was that we missed another train, and the stationmaster, who must have had an especial dislike for me, had not sent on the horse-box, and was more angry than ever. Of all the obstinate people in the world I think a station-master at a small station can be easily first, and our efforts to soothe him produced no effect whatever. Everything he said began with "I know my business," and I have always been inclined to doubt people who try to crush me with such unnecessary information.
We got away eventually, but my misfortunes were not finished. Our train was very late at Reading and there was no longer any chance for me to be in college by nine o'clock. Jack, too, was bothered about the men whom he had asked to dinner, and Bunny alone remained in a state of unruffled contentment.
When the train came at last I got into a carriage with only a glance at the people in it, and tried to go to sleep, but Bunny kept on talking about Thunderer and had magnificent schemes for my future benefit. I regret to say that he was in what must have been a sportive mood, and asked me to choose my racing colours and my trainer. He kept up a long series of questions which I did not answer, but which prevented me from going to sleep. I opened my eyes reluctantly and saw Jack slumbering in a corner, but when I looked at the man opposite to me I became most thoroughly awake. This man, as far as I remember anything about him when I got into the carriage, had his head buried in a newspaper; now he was revealed as Mr. Edwardes, and having wished me "good-evening," he added—quite superfluously—that he was surprised to see me.
Bunny with more curiosity than good manners put on his glasses to look at Mr. Edwardes, and I, having to say something, thought that I might as well introduce them to each other, though I took care to mumble Bunny's name so that it could not be heard. Mr. Edwardes bowed and opened his paper again, but Bunny having arrived at the fact that I was face to face with a don of some kind, thought he would try to pass the time pleasantly. Considering what he had already said about race-horses nothing could have been more fatuous than his attempts to explain why I was not in Oxford. He began by talking about British industries, and in a minute was saying that he thought a visit to Huntley and Palmer's biscuit manufactory was well worth a visit to Reading. I kicked and nudged him incessantly, for the snubs which he received from Mr. Edwardes only seemed to encourage him.
The distance between Reading and Oxford is happily not great, but by the time we had finished our journey I was in a state of profound discomfort, and though I had no love for Mr. Edwardes, I thought that Bunny might have had the sense to know that if he was amusing himself he was making things more difficult for me. His explanation was that a man who looked like a frozen image was just as likely to believe that I had been inspecting Huntley and Palmer's manufactory as buying a race-horse, and at any rate it was a good thing to try and mix him up a little, but I can't say that I thought the explanation a good one.
When we got to Oxford a man from a livery-stable was waiting for Thunderer, and Jack and I reached St. Cuthbert's just as the Mohocks were coming back to college after playing pool. It was half-past ten before I could explain things to the men whom I had asked to dine with me, and when they heard that I had been buying a race-horse they thought that my excuses were good enough.
The Bradder was dining with the Mohocks that evening, and when the out-college men had gone away he asked me to come to his rooms and have a smoke. I looked at Jack, and The Bradder said at once, "Ask Ward to come with you," and walked off across the quad.
We told him exactly what we had been doing, and I think Mr. Edwardes would have been rather surprised to see how he laughed.
"What would Colonel Marten say if he knew you had bought a race-horse?" he asked me.
"I hope to goodness he never will know," I answered.
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Sell him—if I can; Langham's got him in the stables where he keeps his horses, and if you would like to have a look at him, I'll take you round."
But The Bradder shook his head.
"You say Mr. Edwardes saw you at Reading, and that you are gated, and were not in college until ten o'clock. I wish you would not do such stupid things," he said quite seriously.
"It was the reaction," I replied.
"From what?"
"Browning," I said, and The Bradder did not look altogether pleased.
"I am sorry you can't appreciate Browning."
"I can't appreciate very many things at once. Besides, Jack and I felt very dull."
"Mr. Edwardes saw you, I suppose?" he asked Jack.
"I should think so, but I don't think he knows me by sight."
"Oh yes, he does," The Bradder said. "Both of you are bound to hear more about this."
"It's very unfortunate," Jack remarked; "you see there was a fog, and all sorts of unexpected things happened. It has been a real bad day," he added, as we left the room.
On the following morning directly after breakfast Jack and I went round to see Bunny, and we found him talking to a man who looked like a groom from his head to his heels. I groaned.
"Sit down, Sam," Bunny said. "That's Mr. Marten, the owner of the horse you are talking about."
"Well, all I can say is what the Guv'nor told me to say. I was to say this 'oss must leave our place this morning or there'll be trouble."
"There seems to have been trouble already," Bunny replied.
"'E's done enough damage for twenty 'osses. Kick, you should see 'im; 'e's kicked a loose box silly. Our Guv'nor's fairly got 'is rag out."
"He must wait until I've finished breakfast. You'd better have a cigarette, Sam."
"No, thank you," Sam answered, and looked at a cigar-box.
"Help yourself," Bunny said.
Sam helped himself and remarked that he had been up since five o'clock with that blessed 'oss, and that it was thirsty work. So he helped himself again. After that he did not seem to mind so much what the Guv'nor said, and told Bunny that he had never met a nobleman who didn't know how to treat people properly.
We talked to Sam for some time, and just as Bunny was finishing breakfast another man came into the room.
"I had forgotten all about you," Bunny said. "I'm afraid this place is rather full of smoke," and he introduced his cousin, Mr. Eric Bruce.
"I can't congratulate you on your memory," Bruce replied; "you forgot I was going to stay with you last night, and you forget I want any breakfast. Funny chap, Augustus, isn't he?" he said to me.
"Your wire never came until I had gone yesterday, so I couldn't forget you were coming," Bunny said, and rang the bell.
"I'll tell the Guv'nor you'll be round in 'alf a jiffy," Sam said, and went out of the room jerkily, as if he had got a stiff leg.
"What curious friends you have, Augustus, and what is ''alf a jiffy'?" Bruce asked.
"Don't be a fool," Bunny answered, "and don't call me Augustus."
"It's better than Gussy," Bruce declared, and though I should have been glad to contradict him, for I disliked him at sight, there is no doubt that he was right.
"Is the man, who has gone, an elderly undergraduate or only a don?" Bruce went on.
"He's from some stables round the corner. Any one with two eyes could see that."
"Rude as usual; my cousin's the oddest man," Bruce said to Jack.
"Like to buy a horse?" Bunny asked him.
"I'm ready to buy anything if I can sell it at a profit," he answered.
"Well, swallow your breakfast and come and have a look. You'll get your profit all right. I've never known you when you didn't."
In a few minutes we all went to the stables, and Bunny began haggling operations. Bruce bid a "fiver" for Thunderer, and was told he would fetch that for cats' meat, and then the game went on. In the end Bruce said he would give fifteen guineas, and take him to London that day. I nearly seized him by the hand, and told him he was a rare good sort, which I was quite convinced he was not. The livery-stable man did not seem to care what happened as long as Thunderer went away, and I must say that he made the least of his eccentricities.
"That's a bit of luck," Bunny said to me when the bargain was settled, "I get rid of my cousin and a horse on the same day, both real bad lots. He's our family pestilence," and he nodded at Bruce's back.
For Jack's benefit I added up the result of my investment, and came to the conclusion that I was about eighteen-pence to the bad when I had paid for the damage Thunderer had done, and all the little incidental expenses connected with him. You can't own a race-horse for nothing, and I think that I—or rather Bunny—did well. I was told afterwards that Bruce raffled my horse and sold fifty tickets for a sovereign each, but I am not inclined to believe that story, and at any rate I should not have known where to find fifty fools. I certainly could not have discovered them in Oxford, where some people, who have never been there, make the mistake of thinking they are to be found in crowds.
I believe the dons held a meeting about Jack and me, for The Bradder told us there was a great difference of opinion about the sort of men we were. I tried to get more out of him, but failed. However, we got off lightly, for Jack was only gated for a week, while I was given a lecture by the Subby, and had a week added to my term of imprisonment.
The Bradder also advised me to give up going to race-meetings.
I was beginning to forget that I had ever been the owner of a race-horse when I got a furious letter from my father. The Warden had told my uncle, and my uncle lost his head and wrote to my people instead of to me. A tale of this kind always flies round at a tremendous pace, and it was difficult to make every one believe that I had never meant to buy the horse, and that as soon as I had bought him my one desire was to get rid of him. I found out afterwards that the Warden only told my uncle because he thought the tale would amuse him, but apparently he expressed himself in such very curious language that he gave the impression of being annoyed. After I had soothed my people the Bishop wrote to me that the turf had been the ruin of many young men, but when I thought of the part I had played upon it I came to the conclusion that I was not likely to be added to the number. My uncle referred to racing as "a fascinating and very expensive pleasure," and I assured him that I had not found it fascinating, and that my experience had cost me eighteen-pence, the cheapness of which he had to admit. I am glad that I added up my expenses, for that eighteen-pence was very useful, it was such a delightfully ridiculous sum to brandish at any one who thought that I was trotting down the road to perdition.
During the rest of the term we were very quiet in St. Cuthbert's. I was able to play rugger for the college in nearly every match, for my days in the 'Varsity fifteen had ended. Hogan was better than ever, while I had fallen away to the kind of man who Blackheath ask to play for them when half their team are crocked and the other half have influenza. I did not mind, however, for our college fifteen was only beaten by Trinity and Keble, and our soccer team, chiefly owing to three or four freshers, was also much better than it had been for years.
Things were improving all round, and Jack's energy was almost exhausting to those who watched it. He seemed to me to be hunting for societies to join, and he went round sampling them and finding out that they did not suit him. Bunny Langham succeeded in getting himself elected Secretary of the Union, and he told me that he was going to have several cabinet ministers down to speak in the following term, and should give them a jolly good dinner. He asked Jack and me to meet them, but only one of them came, and he did not dine with Bunny. His father, who was in the Government and held the record for the number of speeches he had made in the House of Lords, came down once and wanted to come again, but he spoke for such a tremendously long time that Bunny declared that he should give up all hopes of being elected President if he ever came again.
In the Lent term Jack rowed six in our Torpid, and also told me that he thought he should try and get his blue for throwing the hammer. He had never thrown the hammer in his life, but he said that he knew what it was like and any one could throw it. I suppose that was true, but Jack, when he tried, found that there were other men who could throw it a greater distance than he could, which did not trouble him in the least. He remarked that the hammer was a silly thing after all, and that he should think of something else.
But the Torpid occupied so much of his time and attention that he gave up seeking for a curious way in which to get his blue, and settled down to train in a most determined manner. The sight of me eating muffins for tea seemed to be almost an insult to him, I really believe that he would have liked me to train with him, though I had nothing whatever to train for. He did persuade me once to run round the Parks before breakfast, but I didn't repeat the experiment, for I felt quite fit without being restless in the early morning. Of course I had the Torpid to breakfast, and their confidence in themselves was as great as their appetites. You can't, I think, give breakfast to a Torpid and like them at the same time, and I have never acted as host to a Torpid or an Eight without being struck by the fact that of all men in the world I was the most supremely unimportant. Occasionally Jack and another man remembered that I was not very interested in the amount of work the Corpus stroke did with his legs, and made as great an effort to drag me into the conversation as I made to keep in it. But the effort was very apparent on both sides, and I gave up when I heard that seven in the Merton boat used his oar like a pump-handle, and that there was not a single man in the Pembroke crew who pulled his own weight. This last statement compelled me to ask if Pembroke hoisted a sail on their boat and waited for a favourable wind, but my question was treated with scorn, and I came to the usual conclusion that the best place to see a Torpid collectively is in a boat.
The confidence of our men depressed me, for I had most conscientiously played the part of host to previous Torpids and Eights, who had been equally confident until the racing began. After that they had either complained of their luck or their cox, and I asked Jack when I got him by himself if he really thought our boat was going up.
"I don't know," he replied, "we plug hard, and thinking you are bound to bump everybody is part of the game. It's no use starting to race with your tail down."
The papers considered that we were bound to rise, but for two years they had been saying that and all we had done was to lose more places. I wished that I could meet some one who was not sure about the success of our boat, and at last I discovered him in Lambert, who said our crew looked like a picnic party, which had gone too far out to sea, and had to plug for all they were worth to get back before night. Then I defended them and felt more happy. The fact was the Torpids were a sort of test case; if we went up I felt we should have fairly turned the corner, but if we went down I was afraid our fit of enthusiasm would cool rapidly. No one who was rowing in them could have been more excited than I was. The Bradder noticed it and complained, but for the moment I was incapable of caring much about things which had happened, and after all there is something to be said for anybody who is really keen on one thing, if he does not make himself a very terrific bore.
On the first night of the races we got a dreadfully bad start, and for two or three minutes we were in danger of being bumped. Then we settled down and began to draw close to Corpus, but our cox was too eager and made unsuccessful shots at them. After the second shot I could not run another yard, so perhaps a little training might have done me good, but we did catch Corpus at the "Cher," and that began a triumphant week. We made seven bumps, and though a lot of men said our crew showed more brute force than science, it must have been nonsense, because we went up from fourteenth to seventh, and when a boat gets fairly high in the First Division there is sure to be some one in it who can row properly. The stroke of the 'Varsity eight told me that the best man in our Torpid was Jack and I believed him very easily.
"He could be made useful in the middle of a boat with a bit of coaching," he said to me.
"You'll be up next year, so look out for him," I answered, and I told him that I thought Jack was a splendid oar, which was no use because he only laughed.
I had become so accustomed to a dismal return to college from both the Eights and Torpids that the change was quite delightful, and on the last day of the races we had a huge "bump" supper in hall. From that supper some of our dons stood aloof and were even said to disapprove of it, but the Warden was present for the greater part of it, and the Bursar and The Bradder entered into the spirit of the thing with a zest which was splendid. There were also two or three more dons, who had been undergrads of St. Cuthbert's, but who now belonged to other colleges, and they seemed to know that there are times when it is well to forget that you are a don. We entertained two members of each of the crews which we had bumped, and I cannot say that any of them seemed to be dispirited by their bad fortune. Indeed, as the evening went on they became exceedingly lively, and some of them were inclined to swear everlasting friendship with any one who liked demonstrations.
After supper we had a lot of speeches, but it was impossible to hear many of them, for everybody wanted to speak and no one to listen. I did hear the opening sentence of one speech, "Gentlemen, I used to be able to row once," but I heard no more, for the next words were drowned in loud cries of "Shame" and "No, no," and the don who wished to tell us his personal reminiscences just stood and smiled at us. He had been in the St. Cuthbert's boat when it had been head of the river and did not mind anything. Before we left the hall there were two men speaking at once at our table, it was a great chance to practise oratory. I have never been at a more convivial supper, and since we had not been given an opportunity of celebrating anything for ages it is no wonder that we made a tremendous noise. Some people may wag their heads at bump suppers and call them silly, or whatever they please, but they have forgotten the joy of living, and find their chief delight in criticizing the pleasures of those who are younger and happier than themselves. I suppose they are useful in their way, but thank goodness their way is not mine. You can't expect an undergraduate to celebrate seven bumps by standing on the top of a mountain and watching a sunrise, or by some equally peaceful enjoyment. He wants noise, and he generally manages to get it. I know that I was very pleased with that evening and felt as if it had been well-spent, but when I tried to describe it to Mrs. Faulkner, she shrugged her shoulders and said that it was most childish, for she couldn't understand that it was very nice to let yourself go a little when there was a good reason for doing it. I believe she was one of those people who are ashamed of ever having been children, and if she lived to be a hundred years old and kept all her faculties she would never understand what a peculiar mixture makes up life at Oxford. I did not tell her about the bonfire which we had in the back quad after supper, because I am sure she would have thought that either I was lying or that most of the men in St. Cuthbert's were a set of lunatics.
Two or three dons, who could appreciate festivities, danced round the bonfire quite happily, and evidently enjoyed themselves. They were very popular; too much so possibly for their own comfort, for one of them who was, except on especial occasions, a most prim and proper person, was seized by a man, who looked upon him as his very dearest friend, and carried round the bonfire at galloping pace. After that the dons disappeared and we had a dance in the hall. I should think the band must have been as keen on exercise as we were, for the music got faster and faster as the evening went on, and it was impossible to keep time, but that did not matter. In our battels at the end of the week we were all charged half-a-crown for refreshing the band, so that they could not have gone away hungry—or thirsty.
An outburst of this kind is something more than a custom honoured by time, for it clears the air and you can settle down afterwards quite easily. I had smuggled myself into the festivities which other colleges had given, but I had never enjoyed myself half as much as I did at our own. We had done something at last which was worth a bonfire, and a bonfire with no one to dance round it has never yet been lighted in an Oxford quad.
The Bradder thought that our supper had gone off very well, although he had seen one of his fellow-dons treated too affectionately, and had rescued him. But he knew such things did not really mean anything, for you can't expect men who have just come out of strict training to behave quite like ordinary mortals.
I wanted to fish during the Easter vac, but my vacs were beginning to get out of hand, for make what plans I would—and I made very pleasant ones—somebody was always at work to upset them. I meant to take Fred home with me and play cricket in a net if the weather was warm, and fish a little stream near us, but the Bishop had found something else for me to do, and my schemes came to nothing. At the end of the term I only went home for two days, and then had to start off on a tutorship. It is no use pretending that I went without vigorous protests. I said that I had never tutored anybody in my life, and was met by the answer that everything had to have a beginning, which is such an appalling truism that it ought never to be uttered. I then stated that I was sorry for the boy who had me as a tutor, though I meant, of course, that I was sorry for myself, and my mother replied that she should miss me very much, but that she had talked the whole thing over with my father, and they both thought the experience would be good for me. What could I say to that? Besides, it was too late to back out. The people, I was told, were charming, and I was to take charge of a boy aged twelve, who was home from school because he had been having measles. The boy was also charming, everybody and everything seemed to be exactly right; but I thought I saw the Bishop peeping through all these descriptions, and charming is a word which has no great attractions for me, it is so comprehensive and can mean such a multitude of things.
But as I had to go I went cheerfully, and I should not think that any one ever started on a tutorship knowing less than I did about the people to whom I was going. My whole stock of knowledge consisted of their name, which was Leigh-Tompkinson, of the place where they lived, and of the fact that the boy had been ill. I had, however, no doubt that I should be able to get on with them if they could only put up with me; they were, I was assured, friends of the Bishop, and I did not think that he would urge me to go to any people whom I should not like.
When I arrived at the house I was shown into a drawing-room in which there were at least eight ladies and not a single man. My reception was almost effusive. Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson insisted that I was cold, tired, and dying of hunger, but I had only travelled forty miles, and the day was warm. I wanted nothing except a sight of Mr. Leigh-Tompkinson, and I had an awful feeling that there was not such a man. It struck me suddenly that no one had ever spoken of him to me, and my courage decreased.
"You would like to see Dick," one lady said to me, and everybody asked where he was, and nobody knew or seemed to care very much. The desire for him passed off as quickly as it had come, and in half-an-hour I was playing a four-handed game at billiards with Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson as a partner, and two ladies as our opponents. My partner played better than I did, and we won; we then played two other ladies, and in the middle of the second game Dick came into the room. One glance at him told me that he was all right, and I should have been very glad to go away with him. He remarked to me at once that I was "at it" already, which told me a good deal. No one took any notice of him except to tell him not to fidget, and as he was not fidgeting I thought he was very amiable to receive such unnecessary orders in silence. Before dinner I was able to have a few minutes alone with him, and my fears about Mr. Leigh-Tompkinson were realized—he was dead. We also made some plans for the next day, which were never carried out. In fact, try as I would for many days, and I adopted many artifices, I could hardly ever spend more than an odd half-hour with him, there was always something which his mother thought much more important for me to do. The house was full of people, most of whom were ladies, though none of them were what I called young; but there were two men there all the time, who were the mildest beings I have ever met. I don't think either of them liked me, and I am sure I did not like them; their wildest amusement was a little, a very little golf, and their chief employment was to make themselves generally useful. Everybody, with the exception of Dick and me, seemed to be trying to be young again, it was a most melancholy spectacle. For some time I could not understand how Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson could be a friend of my uncle's, but at last a Miss Bentham, who was always ready to talk, told me that the house-party were having their holidays before they went back to London for the season.
"In London my cousin has so much to do," she continued. "Of course the season is always fatiguing, but Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson makes it more so by her devotion to good works."
I nearly laughed aloud, and thought of saying that if she would be a little more devoted to her son she would not be wasting her time, but I suppressed myself and asked to hear more about the good works.
"She gives so much away, but then she's so rich," Miss Bentham said. "She's devoted to your uncle, but then he's so handsome. Don't you think so?"
"He's fifty," I replied, without remembering to whom I was talking.
"A woman is as old as she looks and a man as he feels," she said, and looked at me.
I knew that I was expected to say that the Bishop must be about thirty, and that she could be scarcely twenty-five, but I really could not do it. The whole place made me feel absolutely unwell.
"My uncle works hard and often feels tired," I remarked after a moment.
"You mustn't think we always enjoy ourselves like this. Here we are quite children again, so very refreshing," but her interest in me had gone. I had been given my opportunity and had not taken it. I should have liked very much to see an interview between Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson in her "good works" mood and my uncle; it would have been a delightful entertainment. But I am sure that he had never seen her when she was taking her holidays, or I should have been left to play cricket and fish with Fred.
In spite, however, of the facts that I was always trying to fulfil the duties which were supposed to account for my presence, and that I liked Dick far better than any one else in the house, I was for some time most popular with Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson. I was new, I suppose, for what other reason there could have been for my popularity I cannot imagine; but at any rate the reason is not worth guessing, for in a brief ten minutes I managed to fall completely out of favour.
The way in which this happened was rather absurd, but it showed clearly enough what an odd kind of woman Dick had for a mother. As a rule I had to play billiards after dinner, but one evening there was somebody staying in the house who persuaded Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson to play round games, and when I went into the drawing-room I discovered that preparations had been made for this form of dissipation. Dick had been allowed to come down to take part in them, and was walking round asking everybody to begin at once; but my experience of round games is that people are generally far more anxious to stop than to begin them. Each person wanted to play a different game, for by this means I fervently believe that they imagined they would get out of playing any at all. I sat down while I had the chance, feeling sure that in a few minutes I should be asked to go outside the door and stay there. I thought that I knew every game of the kind, and when Dick had at last got a few people to look like beginning, I was asked if I knew "it." I had no idea that "it" meant anything out of the ordinary, and I said unblushingly that I did, whereupon Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson asked me to take the chair on her right hand. One of the mild men had already taken up his position on this seat, and to my sorrow he was told to move, though I had no idea that my position was in a peculiar way the place of honour. A lady, who proclaimed many times that she had never done such a thing in her life, stood in the middle of the circle and asked questions, and from the confusing answers she received I discovered promptly that I did not know what game we were playing. At last she came to me and said, "Is it beautiful?" so as we were only allowed to say "Yes" or "No," and the last answer had been "Yes," I said "No." I shall never forget the gasp which followed. Dick, I am ashamed to say, gave way to merriment, but the rest of the people looked at me as if I had committed a crime. It was not hard for me to guess that I ought to have said "Yes"; the agitation had even spread to Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson. The second question asked me was, "Is it old?" and this time I said "Yes," with some fervour; but my answer again caused consternation. Some one indeed declared that it was too hot for games, and in a minute the circle was broken up. Then Dick told me that "it" was always the left-hand neighbour of the person who was asked the question, and I saw that my answers, if true, had also been unfortunate.
Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson went into the billiard-room at once, and I am afraid that even an immediate explanation and apology would not have been considered compensation enough for making her ridiculous. During the next two days Dick and I were left very much to ourselves, and then I asked Miss Bentham, who was, I think, secretly pleased at my answers, to suggest that I should take him to the sea for the rest of his holidays. This request was made in the morning, and we started during the afternoon of the same day, for I had sinned past forgiveness. But unless I had played this game of "It" I should never have had time to make friends with Dick, and he wanted a friend rather badly. He was lonely among a crowd of people, all of whom were ready to give him anything he asked for, except companionship. I started by being sorry for him, and ended by liking him very much; he only wanted some one to take an interest in him, and that I was able to do quite easily. After my tutorship was over Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson wrote to me and hoped that I should often be able to take him away with me, but she expressed no wish for me to stay with her again.
At the beginning of my third summer term I was able to pay Fred the money he had lent me. He protested, but I insisted, for he was Captain of the 'Varsity XI., and was also so popular that during the next few weeks he was bound to have plenty of opportunities for thinking of anything but economy. Besides, this money had been at times a load on my conscience. Economy, either practical or political, has never been a strong point of mine, but I often regretted that I had during my first two years bought a number of things which were more or less useless, because I was not compelled to pay for them at the moment. My difficulties were not overwhelming but they were a nuisance, until the Bishop, who knew both Oxford and me by heart, solved them by giving me a birthday present. Every one, however, has not got a convenient uncle, and without his present I should, owing to the recklessness of my first two years, have been compelled to leave Oxford with bills unpaid, and the prospect of a stormy interview with my father in front of me. I was so genuinely fond of Oxford, and there are so many pleasant things to do there, that I should have been very sorry to leave it with anything hanging over me.
Fast bowlers, both good and bad, were scarce during the whole time I was up, and I was not altogether surprised when Fred chose me to play in the Seniors' Match. In that game I succeeded in getting a few wickets, and soon afterwards I got my Harlequin cap, which pleased me hugely. I am sure that had I not been such an outrageously bad batsman, Fred would have liked to try me for the 'Varsity, but there happened to be another man who did not bowl any worse than I did and who batted much better. So I was left to bowl for the college, and I was not altogether sorry, for if Fred had yielded to his feelings and given me a trial a lot of men would have said it was a swindle. There are a number of people in Oxford who spend their time in looking out for swindles, and of all things in the world they seem to be the easiest to find. In Fred's case, however, I should have had a much better chance of playing if I had not been one of his greatest friends, for he was the very last man to turn his eleven into a sort of family party.
Our eight expected to make seven bumps, and succeeded in making five of them, with which Jack, who rowed six, pretended to be discontented. But we celebrated those five bumps all right, and altogether the college was a splendid place to live in. I stayed in bed much later than usual on the morning after our second celebration, and I suppose every one else was sleepy, for I could hear Clarkson calling his boy a lazy young vagabond, and that always happened when through other people's laziness the unfortunate boy could not get on with his work.
"Who is up?" Clarkson shouted.
"Nobody," the boy answered.
"Then fetch Mr. Thornton's breakfast," for Thornton had moved into rooms next to mine at the beginning of the term.
"Mr. Thornton's in bed."
Clarkson stamped heavily. "What the deuce does he mean by being in bed? Go and fetch his breakfast, and don't answer me when I give you orders."
The boy hurried down the stairs, and I thought Thornton had acted very unwisely in changing his rooms, for if Clarkson got hold of a man of whom he could take charge he was quite certain not to miss his chance. I knew one or two men who lived in greater fear of him than of any don, and I determined to advise Thornton not to be bullied. My efforts, however, were quite useless, for Thornton assured me that he liked our scout and got a great deal of amusement from him.
"Clarkson knows exactly what is best for himself and me, and he is always clean," he said.
"He treats his boy abominably," I replied.
"I wonder what you would be like if you were a scout," he said, and as he obviously thought that I should only be remarkable for my failings, I gave up trying to talk to him.
Thornton was a great puzzle to me, for his one desire was to be left to himself, and apart from speaking at debates and belonging to various literary societies he never seemed to me to do anything. Murray always lost his temper with me when I said that Thornton was extraordinarily odd, and declared that he was one of the cleverest men in the college and would probably be governing some colony when we had sunk out of sight.
In some moods Murray was not a cheerful companion, and I could not help telling him that to be bullied by your scout is not a good preparation for governing anything. And as a matter of fact Thornton became gradually so very eccentric, that even Murray had to admit that if he was a genius he was one who had lost his way.
After our eight had been successful Jack Ward was very anxious that they should go to Henley, but both the Bursar, who had done more to improve our rowing than anybody, and The Bradder wanted them to wait for another year.
"We shall have nearly the same eight next summer, and two or three good freshers are coming up," The Bradder argued.
"I shall be in the schools," Jack replied sadly, and though The Bradder turned away suddenly I saw him smiling, for Jack's essays were some of the most comical things ever written.
Anything which resembled style he said was unwholesome, and although Mr. Grace talked to him like a parent and The Bradder tried persuasion and abuse, he stuck to his solid way of giving information. But he confided in me that the reason was that he couldn't write a proper essay to save his life.
"All I want," he exclaimed, "is a degree, and that's what these men don't understand. Besides, I spell badly; it's a disease with me, and when you have got it, you may be able to think of a word, but you would be a precious fool to use it when another man has to read what you have written. So my vocabulary gets limited, and I'm going to stick to facts, and I shouldn't wonder if the examiners don't like them. They so seldom get them."
I don't think he understood what a very great deal some of the history men manage to know, but, at any rate, his way of tackling the examiners was novel, and considering the disease from which he was suffering, perhaps it was also the best he could choose. So he went on learning things by heart, and put up long lists of things on his looking-glass, or any place where he was likely to see them. I saw the extraordinary word "Brom" pinned on to a photograph of Collier, and found out that it stood for Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde and Malplaquet.
"I can't help thinking that Marlborough finished off with Blenheim, because it is the sort of battle any one who is not even reading history has heard of," he explained, "and I have to get that idea out of my head. You will find all sorts of funny words stuck about the place. I've got 'Kajakk' pinned on to a lobelia in my flower-box, because I am always leaving out Anne of Cleves; she never seemed to have a chance, and you must have the man's wives all right."
"Do you think they matter much?" I asked.
"Of course they do. They are guide-posts to the reign, but they would do much better if half of them were not Katharines."
I suggested that he should call one of them Kate and another Kathleen to avoid confusion, but he said that "Kajakk" would pull him through all right, and that if there was any question about Henry VIII. he did not mean to miss is. I am certain that had he been given an opportunity, the examiners would have had a correct list of these ladies, with a brief note attached to explain why there were so many of them.
Soon after the Eights were over, I heard that The Bradder had invited my people to come up at the end of the term, and as I had never stayed up for "Commem," I wrote back cheerfully, and said we would enjoy ourselves. This letter, however, was answered by my father at once, and my plans were again thrown into confusion. "I want you to leave for Germany when term is over. To get even a smattering of the language you must be there nearly three months, and, unless you go immediately, you will miss all the shooting. I want you to know three modern languages well enough to get into the Foreign Office without any difficulty." This was the beginning of the longest letter I had ever had from him, and in many ways the nicest, but I cannot say that I wanted to spend my summer with a German family, and after consulting Fred, I went to The Bradder to see if he would not help me to stay in England.
"I can't read history and learn German at the same time," I said to him, "and all my work will be wasted unless I do some this vac."
"Your father has evidently made up his mind," he said, but I think that he must have been sorry for me.
"You write and tell him that I shall forget all I have been doing. He will listen to you."
"German is very valuable to you."
"So is history. How can I be expected to work next year when I am packed off every summer to live with a lot of people who don't want me? I get no fun."
"You will like it when you get there, and for this summer you can manage to do enough history to keep up what you know. I will help you as much as I can."
"Why can't I be allowed for once to like a thing in the place where I want to like it?" I asked, and I nearly told him that environment was everything, but he did not like those profound statements any better than I did. I only saw The Bradder really nasty to one man, and he had been fool enough to say that the reason why he cut his lectures was because the whole atmosphere of Oxford was against work, which really was a sickening sort of excuse.
My attempts to get help from The Bradder failed, and as soon as I had worked myself up into a rage he began to laugh.
So after one night at home I started to Germany and my people went to Oxford for "Commem" on the same day, which was a most topsy-turvy state of things. Nina promised to write to me, but I did not expect anything from her except postcards. I was, however, mistaken, for she wrote me a kind of "Oxford day by day," which I, struggling with a strange language in a strange land, was very glad to have. I don't know whether The Bradder taught her to refer to the Vice-Chancellor as the "Vice-Chuggins," but in her description of the Encænia that most important gentleman was certainly not mentioned with the respect which I consider that people, who don't belong to Oxford, ought to feel for him. In fact Nina succeeded in catching the Oxford language so badly that she told me that my father had been having "indijuggers," and I am sure that he would have had a worse attack if he had known what Nina called it. I am sorry to say that she treated the Encænia in a very light and airy way, though some most mightily distinguished men were receiving honorary degrees at the function.
"I like the Sheldonian because it is so round," she wrote to me, "but I was not impressed by the Encænia. The area of the theatre was reserved for the dons, who wore what I believe you call academic dress, but they did not look as if they had room enough to be comfortable. I sat in a gallery with a lot of people, and there was a man, who somebody told me was a Pro-proctor—at any rate he wore robes and looked, I thought, rather nice—to keep order. You do mix up things queerly at Oxford; some of the jokes which were made were really not very funny, and mother was afraid that some one might be offended. She was quite nervous. I liked the Public Orator, who seemed to me to be introducing the people who were to receive honorary degrees to the Vice-Chuggins, and I was sorry for the University prizemen, who wore evening dress and had to read out their prize poems and things. I couldn't hear a word the Public Orator said, but perhaps that was because I had a man near me who made jokes all the time and a bevy of relatives kept up a chorus of giggles. Mr. Bradfield had to go to luncheon afterwards at All Souls. I met Mr. Ward in the Turl yesterday; he was only up for two or three hours, and I thought he said he was going to coach. I am sure he said something about coaching, and as I remembered how fond he was of horses I thought he was going for a driving tour. But it turned out that he was going to read with somebody; very silly of me. Do you remember when he jumped into the 'Cher'? It seems ages ago. Mr. Bradfield punts splendidly, we all like him very much, and father has dined with the Warden, who had toothache and hardly spoke all the evening. Most unfortunate. We are going to the 'Varsity match, and Mr. Bradfield says that Fred is the best bat and captain you have had for ages. I believe mother nearly fainted with delight when she heard this. Mr. Bradfield dances as well as you do."
The next letter Nina wrote was full of The Bradder's perfections, but in the following one he was scarcely mentioned, and my mother, who had never seen Oxford in June, was so delighted with everything that she did not tell me much about anybody. Still I could not help wondering what had happened, for Nina was not usually reticent without a reason.