Mrs. Higginbotham, although deeply disappointed, wrote a very kind and consoling letter from Torquay, where her bronchial tubes, which had assumed complete mastery over all her actions, still detained her.
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again," she wrote, and thought she had said a very original thing. "I always found, when I was a young lady at school, that if I couldn't master my tasks immediately, the only thing for it was, not to give them up, but to determine that Iwouldmaster them in time; and my mistress, Miss Dolby—now an angel—used frequently to point me out to the parents of other pupils, and say, 'That child has great determination, and will undoubtedly make her mark.' I am aware that I have not fulfilled Miss Dolby's prophecy up to present date, but your triumphs are mine, Peter, and I trust that we shall both grow famous together."
Mr. Binney was much encouraged by Mrs. Higginbotham's letter. He took a holiday and went to Torquay, and by the time Lucius went up to Cambridge early in October, very much relieved at the idea of at least one year free from the companionship of his father as a fellow undergraduate, he had settled down for a hard winter's work in Russell Square.
Lucius Binney enjoyed his first year at Cambridge exceedingly. He had been popular at school and he was very much liked at the University. He did enough work to enable him to avoid friction with the authorities and passed both parts of his Littlego in his first term. He rowed in the Trial Eights, but as he was not heavy enough to fill any place but bow in a University boat, a place which was adequately filled already, he did not get his Blue. His allowance enabled him to play his part in the hospitalities of University life with credit, and he showed no disposition to exceed it. He was made a member of the historic Amateur Dramatic Club, commonly known as the A.D.C., and played the part of a maid-servant in the first performances of his year on the most approved principles of Cambridge dramatic art, with a slim waist, a high colour, and an unmistakably masculine voice. He would have been one of the happiest men in the University if he had not been continually haunted by the thought of his father.
But for some reason or other Mr. Binney, although he insisted upon lengthy letters being written to him, giving the fullest possible account of University matters, expressed no intention of paying him a visit, as Lucius lived in continual fear of his doing. Perhaps he was ashamed of his inability to pass the entrance examination after having made certain of doing so; perhaps he preferred to make his first appearance amongst Cambridge men as an undergraduate and not as the guest of an undergraduate. At any rate he left Lucius unmolested during his first two terms, but his letters became more and more jubilant as he worked on at his examination subjects, and felt himself getting nearer the desired goal.
Lucius had a friend called Dizzy. His name was not really Dizzy, but it is only fair to state that he had been christened Benjamin. To him alone, of all his friends, Lucius had disclosed, under a solemn promise of secrecy, the dark fate that was hanging over him.
"He'll pass this time, Dizzy, I know he will," said Lucius, after receiving a more than usually confident letter from his father, who informed him that Minshull had told him that his Latin prose was, at last, beginning to show signs of an elementary grasp of the fact that there was such a thing as Latin grammar.
"Not he," said Dizzy with complete confidence. "He'll never pass. I knew an old geezer—no offence to your governor, Lucy—who first took up Latin when his little boys were seven and eight, under a governess. First week they were all three about equal. Then the eldest boy began to forge ahead. In a fortnight the little one left the old man behind, and after a month the governess said she'd have to go if he didn't do her more credit. He didn't want that, so he married her, which was what he'd been after all along, only hadn't liked to say so. They can't learn things at that time of life, my boy, any more than we can make a pot of money by winking at a fellow on the Stock Exchange. It's not in 'em."
"You don't know my governor," said Lucius, his depression very little lightened by Dizzy's narrative. "He's been at it for nearly a year now, grinding like a galley slave. That fellow Minshull must have got something into his head by this time. And after all the entrance exam isn't anything very big, is it?"
"Not to us; we're educated men," said Dizzy, who was a member of Trinity Hall, where the entrance examination is tempered to the shorn Trinity candidate. "But it's the devil and all to people like your old governor who ain't used to that sort of thing.Hewon't pass, Lucy; don't you be afraid of it."
"It's too bad of him wanting to come up, isn't it, Dizzy?" said poor Lucius, who yearned for sympathy and could only obtain it from this one particular friend.
"Itistoo bad," said Dizzy. "I don't know what governors are coming to. There's mine wrote to me the other day and said I was disgracing the family name, just because I turned out those lights in St. Andrew's Street and got hauled up at the police court for it. I told him I did it entirely to save the ratepayers' money. He's always talking about the enormous fiscal burdens he's got to bear, or some such tommy-rot, and I thought that would please him. But not a bit of it. Governors never listen to reason. I got eight pages back with a lot more about the family name. Hang it, it ain't much of a name after all."
It was not. It was Stubbs. But General Sir Richard Stubbs, V.C., had done his little best to adorn it in days gone by and saw no great probability of his son Benjamin doing the same in days to come.
The account Lucius gave at home of his doings fired Mr. Binney's imagination.
"Splendid, my boy, splendid!" cried the little man, when he described the two bumps which the Third Trinity boat had made in the Lent races. "I shall go in for rowing myself; best exercise you can have," and Mr. Binney drew himself up and struck the place where his chest would have been if he had had one. "Is it likely, do you think, Lucius, that you and I will row in the same boat?"
"It's not only unlikely," said Lucius shortly, "it's impossible."
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Binney, with a dangerous gleam in his eye. "You are such a swell I suppose, that nobody else can expect to come near you."
"You wouldn't even belong to the same boat-club," said Lucius. "You ought to know that by this time. Third Trinity is only for Eton and Westminster men, the rest of the college belongs to First Trinity."
"I did know it," said Mr. Binney, "but I had forgotten it for the moment. You needn't take me up so sharp, Lucius. Is First Trinity a good boat club?"
"Of course it is," said Lucius.
"Very well, then, I shall join it, and take up rowing seriously. Have you spoken at the Union yet?"
"No, I don't belong to it. I shouldn't speak if I did, and it's no good belonging to that and the 'Pitt' too."
"The 'Pitt'! What's the 'Pitt'?"
"It's a club."
"Is it the thing to belong to it?"
"Oh, I don't know. A lot of people do."
"Ah, well, I must belong to that too."
"You have to be elected to it. People sometimes get pilled."
"Well, I should hope there wouldn't be much chance ofmygetting pilled, whatever that may mean. I belong to the National Liberal Club. That ought to be enough for them, oughtn't it?"
"Quite enough for them, I should think," answered Lucius, who had once dined at that famous institution with Peter, and been offensively patronised by one of Mr. Binney's fellow-members, a man old enough to be his father.
"I shall join the Union," continued Mr. Binney. "I expect most of my triumphs will lie there. I am accustomed to addressing large assemblies. I was nearly elected to the London County Council two years ago, as you know. That's where I score, you see, being a man of the world among a lot of boys. I've learnt to do things that they are only just beginning to think about."
"Yes. You've made your pile among other things," replied Lucius. "Most of us haven't learnt to do that yet. We generally begin at the other end and spend it first."
"I shan't grudge spending some of it," said Mr. Binney. "I hope to entertain the young fellows a good deal. Minshull says if you give a few good breakfasts every term—do the thing well, you know, with perhaps some fruit and a bottle of claret to come after—you get a tremendous reputation for hospitality throughout the 'Varsity. Is that so?"
"Well, I'm not sure I ever met anybody who drank claret at breakfast. I did know a fellow who used to drink brandy. He certainly did get a tremendous reputation throughout the 'Varsity, but it wasn't for hospitality. He wasn't up there long."
"H'm. Well, Minshull said he knew a man who went up a bit late, who had more money to spend than most people, who got into the first set at Peterhouse through his breakfasts."
"Did he? Lucky fellow! Well, I should give a few breakfasts if I were you, father. We shall all think you a tremendous chap."
"I mean to go one better than that, my boy, and give a little dinner occasionally, to theéliteof the 'Varsity—Blues, and people of that sort. I daresay you young fellows will only be too pleased to go outside the ordinary lines once in a way. I suppose there's no rule against giving dinners, is there?"
"I never heard of it. It's pretty often broken if there is."
"I intend to do the thing well, and open a bottle of champagne. I daresay, now, champagne's a thing that's hardly known at Cambridge."
"That's what I told my wine merchant last term. He was rather annoyed."
"I don't object to a little jollification occasionally. I daresay you and I, Lucius—-for you shall do what I do—will become pretty well known up there by-and-bye."
"I dare say we shall," said Lucius with a sigh. And, indeed, it did not seem unlikely.
Before Lucius went back to Cambridge for the summer term, he made one last attempt to avert the catastrophe which had now become imminent—for Minshull had told him that Mr. Binney was now quite capable of passing the required test. He called on Mrs. Higginbotham, whose bronchial tubes had by this time become less ostentatious in their behaviour.
"Well, Lucius," said that lady, when he was seated opposite to her in her comfortable drawing-room, "you will soon have your dear father to look after you at college. It is not many young men who have a father so ready to share in all their little pleasures."
"No," said Lucius. "Don't you think you could stop him, Mrs. Higginbotham, if you tried?"
"Stop him!" exclaimed Mrs. Higginbotham with raised voice and hands. "My dear Lucius, do not tell me that you are so selfish as to be jealous of an excellent father."
"Jealous!" echoed Lucius. "I don't know what you mean."
"Youdoknow what I mean, Lucius," said Mrs. Higginbotham severely. "And youarejealous. I can see it in your face. Here is your dear father continually talking to me with pride about the things you are doing at Cambridge, while you are only thinking of yourself, and fear that you will lose the position you have won when he is there to compete with you. What a contrast! You should be ashamed of such feelings, Lucius. I am sure I should be if I were in your place. What matter if you do have to take a lower place in the estimation of your young friends, when it is your own father—andsucha father—who will replace you? I do not like to think of such behaviour."
"He'll only be laughed at, you know," said Lucius.
"And do you mean to tell me that, as an unworthy revenge for your loss of prestige, you would actually dare to hold your own father up to ridicule?" inquired Mrs. Higginbotham.
"Of course I shouldn't," said Lucius. "I should do my best to prevent his making a f—I mean becoming notorious."
"There!" said Mrs. Higginbotham triumphantly. "Now you have acknowledged your baseness, Lucius. I am thoroughly ashamed of you. But you will learn that youcannotprevent your father from becoming notorious. He isboundto take the lead in whatever he takes up, especially among a lot of boys many years his juniors, and far inferior in capacity. I am afraid that in addition to your miserable jealousy, Lucius, there are things you wish to hide in your life at Cambridge, things that you do not wish your father to know of. I hope, indeed, that is not so. I should be truly sorry if the innocent life to which he is looking forward with such pleasure was to be spoiled by the misbehaviour of one for whom he has done so much."
"I've got nothing to be ashamed of in my life at Cambridge, Mrs. Higginbotham," said Lucius. "You don't seem to be any more reasonable about this silly scheme than my father himself. I had better go, I think."
"I think so too," said Mrs. Higginbotham. "And do not come and see me again, Lucius, until you are in a better frame of mind, and can speak with more respect to one of your father's oldest friends."
"I won't come and see you again at all, you silly old fool," said Lucius; but he waited to say it until he was on the other side of the door.
Lucius's first May term wore itself out with a burst of glorious summer weather. The boat races and cricket matches, the dances and college concerts, the crowds of sisters and cousins, the mayonnaises and iced cups, and all the other attributes of those ten days of mid-June which go by the name of the May week, played their accustomed parts in mitigating the severity of the toil to which Cambridge devotes itself for the rest of the academic year.
But to Lucius there was a heavy cloud darkening the vivid blue of the summer sky. Mr. Binney was to arrive at the end of the term, to undergo his examination. The days passed with relentless speed, and one unhappy morning he found himself walking up and down the long unlovely platform of the Cambridge station, awaiting the train which was bearing his father rapidly towards the scene of his future exploits. So far only Mr. Benjamin Stubbs shared with him the knowledge of the evil fate that was in store for him. But the secret was bound to come out now, and Lucius wondered whether there was a more unhappy man in all Cambridge than himself.
Mr. Binney arrived, accompanied by Minshull, for whom he had taken rooms at the Hoop, in order that he might have the advantage of his able tuition up to the very last moment, for he was determined to throw away no little chance that might add to his prospect of success. Mr. Binney himself had been allotted rooms in college for the few days during which the examination lasted. If he was not already a Cambridge man this was the next best thing to it, and a proud man was Mr. Binney to find himself the occupant of a garret in the Great Court with a bedroom which any one of his servants at Russell Square would have turned up her nose at. They were the rooms of a sizar, and were barely furnished even for a very poor man's rooms, but the sizar had blossomed into the Senior Wrangler of that year, and that fact repaid Mr. Binney in full for any little inconvenience he might have felt at being deprived of most of the necessities and all the luxuries of life to which he had been accustomed.
Lucius accompanied his father to these rooms and left him to himself, for he was lunching with the captain of his boat. It was the last night of the races, and Mr. Binney proposed, after spending a busy afternoon with Minshull over his books, to go down to Ditton Corner and see the boats. Lucius thanked his lucky stars that he was rowing and need not present his father to an admiring circle of friends on that very public occasion. He would have been pleased enough to introduce him as a father, there or at any other place, if he had come up simply to pay him a visit, for Lucius was a right-minded boy and showed no disposition to be ashamed of his somewhat humble origin among his circle of more or less gilded youth; but to have to say "My father, who is coming up here next term," and to have to stand by while little Mr. Binney tried to reduce himself to the level of an inexperienced schoolboy, as he felt certain he would do, was an ordeal that he did not feel equal to, and he made up his mind to let the inevitable catastrophe bring itself about in its own way. He told himself that he was happy to have averted it for so long, for although some of the dons knew of Mr. Binney's intention, and his own Tutor had actually talked to him about it, the secret did not seem to have become public property among the undergraduates of the college.
Mr. Binney was delighted with everything he saw. The gay crowd in the paddock at Ditton Corner, the lines of carriages on one side, and the flotilla of moored boats under the bank, appealed to him with all the force of a delightful novelty. The boating men and others on the tow-path across the river, with the photographers plying their trade and letting off their amiable witticisms through their megaphones, the boat crews in their coloured coats, some of them with flowers in their hats, swinging down to their stations round the bend, gave him great pleasure. Then, after a pause, filled with the gossip and laughter of the crowd, when a distant gun was heard, and three minutes afterwards a second, and a minute after yet another; when the men in the boats under the bank straightened themselves and said, "They're off"; when a moving mass of the heads of men running was seen far away under the willows across the meadows; when little men laden with bundles of coats fled along the tow-path opposite towards the "Pike and Eel"; when the noise of the shouting and the springing of rattles drew nearer; when every head in the crowd was turned towards Ditton Corner, and two boats came into sight very close to one another, and after them two more, and the shouting and cheering was taken up by every one around him, Mr. Binney lost his head with excitement, and yelled with the best of them, especially for the heroes of Fitzwilliam Hall whom he, for some reason or other, mistook for a Trinity crew.
"It's grand, Minshull, it's grand," he said as they made their way home with the crowd along the river bank and across Midsummer Common. "I don't wonder at your being proud of Cambridge, Minshull."
"I'm glad Pothouse made their bump just opposite Ditton," said Minshull complacently. "Now you see what rowing is like, Mr. Binney."
"Lucius rowed well," said Mr. Binney. "Didn't you think so?"
"Yes," said Minshull, who had been a diligent but ineffective La Crosse and hockey player during his residence at the University, and hardly knew an oar from a barge pole. "But it seemed to me that he hardly caught the beginning enough."
"You had better tell him that," said Mr. Binney with unconscious irony. "I dare say he'll be glad of any hints he can get."
Lucius sat in his rooms in Jesus Lane the next afternoon in a very depressed frame of mind. His father had intimated that he was coming to tea. Lucius had invited Dizzy to meet him, hoping that his friend's pleasant flow of conversation would help out the entertainment, and prevent his own plentiful lack of cheerfulness from becoming too apparent; but Dizzy had not arrived yet. He devoutly hoped that nobody else would unexpectedly honour him with his society. But alas! an Eton friend, one year his junior, who was in for the entrance examination, took that untoward opportunity of paying him a visit.
"There's such a rummy little devil up," he said in the course of conversation, "about sixty years old, with carrotty whiskers. It oughtn't to be allowed."
The blow had fallen. Poor Lucius sat silent in untold misery, and just then in walked Mr. Binney. "My father," said the wretched boy. "Lord Blathgowrie."
Lord Blathgowrie shook hands with Mr. Binney without visible embarrassment, and then, suddenly remembering a pressing engagement, went out to spread his extraordinary news.
"A lord!" said little Mr. Binney with great satisfaction. "Well, there are a good many lords I could buy up. However, that seems a nice young fellow. I wonder how he got on with his Virgil paper. I must ask him to-morrow."
Lucius groaned inwardly. "I shouldn't pal up to chaps like that, if I were you, father," he said. "I should keep as quiet as I could, or you'll make yourself and me look jolly ridiculous."
"Allow me to tell you, sir," said Mr. Binney up in arms at once, "that no action I choose to take is likely to make either you or myself look ridiculous. And I object to being made the butt of such observations from my own son. It isn't the first time it has happened, and in order that it may be the last, I beg to tell you that it is my intention to knock ten pounds a year off your very handsome allowance for every speech of that sort that I am called upon to listen to."
Lucius groaned again and passed his hand wearily across his brow, but made no verbal remonstrance to his father's harsh announcement, and just then the door of the house was heard to slam, and Dizzy tumbled noisily upstairs and into the room.
"My father—Mr. Stubbs," said Lucius dejectedly.
"How do you do, Mr. Binney," said the cheerful Dizzy. "Pleased to meet you. Lucy—I mean Lucius, told me you were thinking of giving us a turn up here. Not a bad place, is it? Better than Threadneedle Street, eh?"
"I don't know very much about Threadneedle Street, Mr. Stubbs," said Mr. Binney, a little taken aback by Dizzy's extreme friendliness, "but this certainly isnota bad place. Indeed it is a very good place. It is a noble place."
"How did you get on with your papers?" inquired Dizzy, helping himself to a large slice of cake. "Pipped 'em all right, I hope."
"I think I acquitted myself tolerably satisfactorily, thank you," answered Mr. Binney. "We were examined on the Acts of the Apostles this afternoon."
"Rummy old boys, those Apostles," began Dizzy in a vein of reminiscent anecdote, but Mr. Binney interrupted him.
"Mr. Stubbs," he said, "I am a man of religious views. I must beg you not to make light of sacred matters. You'll excuse my making the stipulation, but——"
"Oh, not at all," said the unabashed Dizzy ambiguously, "don't mention it. I was only going to say that it seems a rummy thing—however, perhaps I'd better not. See the races yesterday?"
"I did," said Mr. Binney, warming at once. "I never saw anything which pleased me better. What a thing it is to see a lot of young fellows going in for such a grand sport as that!"
"It is," said Dizzy. "I'm a whale on sport. I ain't much of a hand in a boat myself, but put me on a horse and I'll undertake to——"
"Tumble off," interpolated Lucius, who was in a state of irritation verging on desperation.
"Lucy, you've got a fit of the green-eyed monster," said Dizzy. "You ride like a bag of potatoes yourself, and you're jealous of those who can beat you. Don't you pay any attention to him, Mr. Binney. You'll get to know him by-and-bye. Going to keep a horse up here?"
"I hadn't thought of it," said Mr. Binney doubtfully. "I rather thought of devoting myself to rowing."
"Capital thing," said Dizzy. "I knew a fellow who——"
Dizzy's anecdote was so little to the point that it may be omitted. In later life he would probably become one of those old men who interrupt conversation with the dread opening, "I recollect upon one occasion," and sail off into interminable pointless reminiscence. But, at present, his absolute lack of self-consciousness and his flow of youthful good spirits made him very agreeable company, and when he left Lucius's rooms half-an-hour later, he had completely captivated Mr. Binney with his artless prattle.
"That's a very nice young fellow," said Mr. Binney, when the door had closed on Dizzy's back. "If all your friends at Trinity are like that, Lucius——"
"Stubbs isn't at Trinity," said Lucius, "he's at the Hall."
"Really!" said Mr. Binney, much surprised, "I thought that Trinity men never associated on equal terms with men of other colleges."
"That's one of Minshull's ridiculous ideas, I suppose," said Lucius. "It doesn't matter what college a fellow is at if he's a good chap, and there are plenty of good chaps in Cambridge outside Trinity, especially at the Hall."
"But I should have expected a little more—what shall I say?—deference, in a man from another college."
"Well, then, I'm afraid it's one of those expectations in which you'll be disappointed if you're really coming up here. Trinity's the best college in Cambridge—or Oxford either for that matter—but it isn't the only one, and nobody thinks it is unless it's fellows like Minshull, who are always running it down, although they would have given their ears to belong to it themselves."
"I don't like the tone you take up about Minshull, Lucius," said Mr. Binney. "Minshull's a very good fellow, although he hasn't had the advantages that you and I have. I owe him a great deal, and I shan't forget it. Now I must go and look over the subjects for to-morrow's papers."
Poor Lucius went up to Cambridge for his second year with his allowance pared down to £360 a year, for, careful as he was, he had not been so successful as altogether to avoid hurting his father's susceptibilities; and with him went Mr. Binney, for eighteen months of hard toil had enabled him to pass the entrance examination, and he was now duly admitted a pensioner of Trinity.
Lucius had been allotted rooms in college, while Mr. Binney inhabited one of the choice mansions in Jesus Lane. He had knocked off ten pounds from his son's allowance for suggesting a retired situation in the Trumpington Road. "I am determined to do the thing as well as my means will permit of," he had said. "If I can secure good rooms in college next year, I shall do so. Until then I shall take the best lodgings that are available."
They parted at the railway station. "I suppose I shall see you some time to-morrow," said Mr. Binney, when he had collected his luggage and was just stepping into a fly.
"I suppose so," said Lucius dejectedly, as he drove away.
Lucius dined that night in hall, and sat in extreme misery while his friends aired their humour at his expense, for by this time the news of Mr. Binney's arrival had become public property. Their chaff was not ill-humoured, and if matters had stood as they evidently imagined, Lucius could have borne it. Elderly undergraduates are not altogether unknown at Cambridge, although they do not often appear at Trinity College; but they are usually careful to comport themselves with dignified reticence, and to keep very much in the background. A University degree is, as a rule, the sole end they have in view in putting themselves to school again, and they are very far from wishing to ape the manners and customs of the young men with whom they share the pursuit of that laudable object. Lucius had the mortification of feeling that if Mr. Binney had contented himself with working quietly for a degree, and living the unobtrusive life which befitted his years, the amused interest aroused by the event of father and son pursuing their studies at the same time at the same college would have worn itself out, and Mr. Binney might even have come to be considered in the light of a pleasant acquaintance by Lucius's friends. He knew quite well that his father would not be content with this humble role, and that the intermittent sniping of which he was now the object would develop into a regular fusillade of ridicule when Mr. Binney had had time to spread himself a bit and become more notorious.
He went back to his solitary rooms after hall and set himself down to read. Poor boy, he was too dispirited to do anything else. He sported himself in with the half-formed intention of refusing admittance to his father if he should present himself. But up to ten o'clock, when the college gates are shut to outsiders, no one had attempted to invade his privacy. Soon afterwards he went to bed, having spent his first evening at Cambridge entirely in his own society. For two days he moped alone, keeping to his rooms as much as possible and only leaving the college to go down to the river, where his fame was steadily rising. His friends for the most part considerately kept out of his way, thinking that he might be engaged in looking after his freshman parent. But strangely enough he heard or saw nothing of Mr. Binney. He avoided places where he was likely to meet him, and so far his father had never once been to his rooms.
On the third morning he determined to face the music. "If I'm to stop up here," he said to himself—"and I can't go down now I've got a chance of my Blue—I must make up my mind to get used to it. But it's enough to make a fellow take to drink, or work, or something." Then he put on his hat and went round to the "Pitt" Club.
There was a group of men round the fire-place in the big room. "Halloa! here's Binney Minor," said one of them. "How's your major getting on, old man?"
Then many agreeable pleasantries were fired off at him, while he sat on one of the long seats and pretended to read a paper. When it was found that the pleasantries did not amuse him, and he was taking his fate seriously, they ceased, and by-and-bye an exodus took place and he was left to himself.
"I'm afraid poor old Lucy's papa is rather a trial to him," said one of his late tormentors as they walked up Jesus Lane in the sedate and easy manner affected by undergraduates who value their position. "What has he come up for, any way?"
"To look after Lucy, I suppose," said another, "but I don't know why;he'sstraight enough."
"Have you seen the little beggar?" inquired Blathgowrie, who was one of the group. "He's one of the rummiest little beggars you ever saw; rather like an elderly jockey who's got into parliament. Can't think where Lucy gets his good looks from. His mother must have been a ripper."
"I saw him on the river yesterday," said a rowing man; "he was coxing a First Trinity boat and shouting away as if he had been at it all his life. The crew looked frightened and the coach couldn't get a word in edgeways. I think that little man is going to afford us some amusement."
"If he's going to play the fool," said the first man, "that's why Lucy looks so glum when he's chaffed, and I don't wonder at it. I must say it's beastly hard lines on him, and he's such a good chap. Binney major's the sort of governor one would like to keep in the background. Here's Dizzy."
Dizzy was on his way to the "Pitt." When he got there he found Lucius sitting alone, looking the picture of misery. A few Bloods were talking blatantly round the fire, and some quiet members were trying to write letters or read the papers in other parts of the room.
"Well, how has he been behaving?" asked Dizzy, sitting down by his friend.
"I haven't seen him yet," said Lucius. "I can't think why."
"Perhaps he means to behave decently and keep out of the way," suggested Dizzy.
"Not he," answered Lucius. "There's something up."
There was. When Lucius got back to his rooms he found a note on his table.
"Dear Lucius," it ran, "Pray what is the meaning of your not coming to call on me? You know very well that I can't go to your rooms until you do, you being the senior man, and there are a lot of things I want to talk to you about. You will find yourself £10 poorer at the end of the year for this piece of impertinence, and let me advise you to be very careful how you behave. Though a freshman I am still your father. Come to tea this afternoon at five o'clock. I am not to be trifled with.—P.B."
The miserable Lucius went to his father's rooms on his way up from the river. Mr. Binney had been on the river, too, and had not yet returned. Lucius had an opportunity of surveying his father's quarters. There was nothing to show they did not belong to the most callow freshman of eighteen. There were two large shields with the coats-of-arms of the University and Trinity College over the mantelpiece. There was a Trinity coat-of-arms on the coal scuttle, on the match-holders, the pipe-rack, and every article in the room that could reasonably bear it, as well as on every piece of crockery that was laid out on Mr. Binney's tea-table. The usual textbooks and note-books lay about. Lucius looked into the latter and found a feeble attempt at a caricature of a respected lecturer, signed P.B. On the mantelpiece were some printed cards and papers relating to certain small clubs and societies, of which the freshman seeks membership with much avidity, and resigns with equal enthusiasm when he has reached the dignity of his second year. On a chair lay Mr. Binney's cap and gown. To Lucius's horror, the stiffening of the cap had disappeared, and the gown had been cut short. These are the unfailing signs of the second-rate undergraduate who wishes to be taken for a sporting character. Some misguided but radically inoffensive freshmen fall under the influence of such ideals in their early days, and grow out of them afterwards. But surely Mr. Binney could not have made friends with the rowdies yet! He had hardly had time to make friends with anybody.
Just then Mr. Binney himself came in. He was in his boating clothes, of which he was not a little proud.
"Oh, so you've condescended to come at last, have you?" he said.
"I'm very sorry, father," said poor Lucius. "I'd no idea you would stand on all that ceremony. I couldn't make out why you didn't turn up. I thought perhaps you had made up your mind that it would be better for us to take different lines."
"Another ten pounds off," roared Mr. Binney, "you know what I said."
"Oh,damnit," said Lucius, losing patience. "I shan't have anything left at all soon. I'd better go down at once, and have done with it."
"How dare you swear at me, sir?" cried Mr. Binney.
"Well, isn't it enough to make a chap swear?" answered Lucius, almost crying. "I've had such a jolly time up here, and now I'm ashamed to show my face. And as if that wasn't enough you take money off me every time I open my mouth."
Mr. Binney relented. He was fond of his son, and Lucius looked very unhappy. "I'll let you off this time," he said, "but don't let it occur again. Now, what I wanted to say was that I'm not getting on as I expected. Not a soul has called on me except some one who wanted a subscription for a missionary society. I was very pleased to give him a sovereign, of course, but I could hardly take his call as a friendly visit. I have picked up a few friends of my own year at hall and elsewhere, but that isn't what I want. I want to know the distinguished men. You know them. Why haven't you sent some of them to call on me?"
"Look here, father," said Lucius. "It's no use going on like this. The people I know don't go in for all this 'calling' rot, and I'm not going to ask them to. If youmustknow that particular lot, you'll meet some of them in my rooms occasionally, and if they take to you, well, you'll get to know some of them. But you must take your chance just like anybody else. It's no good pushing things."
"Well, there's sense in that," said Mr. Binney. "You can have a little dinner in your rooms. I'll pay for it, and I daresay we shall be very good friends before the evening is out. I suppose you couldn't get Muttlebury up for it, could you? You said you knew him. I should like to meet Muttlebury."
"No, I couldn't," said Lucius shortly.
"Well, any blues will do. I should like to be able to tell Minshull I dined with a party of blues. He only knew one, and that very slightly—Widgeon, who put the hammer or something last year. He was at Peterhouse—Pothouse, I mean. By-the-bye, I suppose there's no harm in my looking up men of my own year, is there?"
"I suppose not, not if you use your sense about it."
"Now, what about the 'Pitt' Club? When is the election?"
"I don't know. In about a fortnight I should think."
"Is my name down for it?"
"No."
"And why not, pray?"
"I've only been there once since I came up."
"Put it down at once, then, and don't lose any more time about it. Minshull had never heard of the 'Pitt,' but I have learnt since I came up that all the best known people belong to it. And I should like to belong to the A.D.C. too."
"I daresay I can manage that for you. I'm on the committee now, and we are always very kind; but, look here, father, there's not the slightest chance of your belonging to the 'Pitt' or the A.D.C. either if you don't keep yourself in the background at first. And whatever made you knock the stuffing out of your cap like that? It's only the rowdies whom nobody respectable has anything to do with who go in for that sort of thing."
"Minshull told me that if you wore a new cap and gown everybody took you for a smug," said Mr. Binney.
"Minshull's a fool," said Lucius, with withering scorn. "You'd better take my advice about things like that, not his. And I should buy myself a new cap if I were you."
A few days after, Dizzy gave a dinner. Most of his guests had arrived and were discussing the vagaries of Mr. Binney, who by this time had become a public character, when Blathgowrie arrived in a state of some perturbation.
"I say, you fellows," he said, as he came in. "This business will have to be stopped. I've had that little bantam in my rooms since seven o'clock. I'm not going to stand it."
"What did he want?"
"Said he hadn't seen me in hall, and wondered what had become of me—thought he'd pay me a friendly call."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I was civil for the sake of poor old Lucy. But I didn't get him out of the room for an hour, and he said he was coming again. Hang me if I ever saw such a pushing little scug."
"Lucy ought to tell him to keep to himself."
"Bless you,hecan't help it," said Dizzy. "He gets his screw docked every time he suggests such a thing."
"Well, I call it a beastly shame. But if Lucius can't do it, somebody else must."
"I'll do it," said Blathgowrie. "I'm not shy. He's bound to turn up again soon; said we were fellow freshmen, or some such rot, and ought to know one another better. He'll knowmebetter before I've done with him. Hush, here's Lucy."
Mr. Binney was not elected to the "Pitt" Club, and Lucius had not been able to bring himself to propose his name for membership of the A.D.C., preferring to lose the £10 of income which his father knocked off for each rebuff, than to put his colleagues to the awkward necessity of either rejecting his nomination, or of electing his father to clubs where he was not wanted. Nor did his dinner bring about that measure of popularity which Mr. Binney had hoped for. Lucius asked four of his tried friends, who were very polite, very much bored, and retired early. Dizzy might have saved the situation, but Dizzy had gone up to town with anexeat. Mr. Binney had by this time joined the Union and spoken twice. He could talk of nothing else and looked forward with confidence to filling the President's chair.
A few nights afterwards he again invaded Blathgowrie. It was about half-past nine, and that estimable nobleman had a select party of about twelve playing the unallowable game.
There was an abashed silence when little Mr. Binney entered and flung his cap and gown on a chair.
"Good evening, Mr. Binney," said Blathgowrie. "We are engaged in a quiet game of whist. Could you make it convenient to call on another occasion?"
"Don't mention it, my lord; don't mention it," said Mr. Binney. "I'll make myself comfortable and look on. I should like to see whist played. It is a game I am unacquainted with, although I recollect when I was a young fellow Snap and Old Maid used to be favourite games in the family circle."
"They're favourite games up here," said Blathgowrie, "and so are Hunt the Slipper and Puss in the Corner. We'll play Puss in the Corner when we've finished this, and you shall be poor pussy. What, not going yet, Astley!"
But first one and then another of Blathgowrie's friends was afraid he must be going, and in ten minutes he was alone with Mr. Binney, putting up the cards with unimpaired cheerfulness.
"I'm very sorry I've disturbed your game," said Mr. Binney, whom this wholesale exodus had considerably amazed.
"Not at all, Mr. Binney, not at all. My friends are in the habit of retiring to rest early. They're all anxious to catch the worm to-morrow, you know."
"Don't call me Mr. Binney," said Peter; "call me Binney. We're of the same standing, you know."
"So we are, Binney," acquiesced Blathgowrie. "Well, Binney, how do you find yourself? Pretty well, thank you?"
Mr. Binney began to grow suspicious.
"I hope, sir, I'm not intruding on you," he began.
"Well, Binney," said Blathgowrie, "to tell you the plain truth, you do intrude confoundedly."
Mr. Binney started up out of his chair.
"Pray sit down, Binney," said Blathgowrie. "I am commissioned by my friends and your son's—Lucy's, you know—to tell you we consider you're behaving in a devilish mean and shabby manner to him. He's done his best for you, you know, but to tell you the truth we don't care for you, Binney. You're not quite our sort, you know—-a year or two older perhaps—and we really can't have you poking in your nose where you're not wanted. There are plenty of nice quiet Johnnies about who'll be very pleased to make your acquaintance, especially if you feed them well, but speaking for the unworthy people whom you honour with your attentions at present, I beg to inform you that they are declined with thanks."
Mr. Binney arose in his wrath. He was somewhat violent and altogether incoherent. Blathgowrie handed him his cap and gown and opened the door for him.
"Good-night, Binney," he said, "mind the step;" and Mr. Binney disappeared down the staircase.
Mr. Binney went out of Blathgowrie's lodgings and into the street in a white heat of indignation. His blood boiled within him at the indignity to which he had been subjected. Was it possible that he, Peter Binney, the founder of a great commercial house, the Bloomsbury ratepayer, the almost successful candidate for the London County Council, had been told in so many words by a mere slip of an impudent boy that his society was not wanted by him and his callow friends? What next! he wondered. As if he cared for their contemptible society! Pshaw! It was the other way about. If they had had the slightest idea how his name was respected in the City, they would have sung averydifferent tune. He wouldn't have their acquaintance now, or join their precious clubs if the committee went down on their bended knees and begged him to do so. He flung into his rooms burning with anger against the whole insolent crew of them, and most of all against his son, Lucius, whom he unjustly accused of being the disloyal cause of his late reverse.
"Ah, Binney, I thocht ye wouldn't be long, and I'd just wait for ye," said a voice with a strong Scotch accent, from the depths of Mr. Binney's armchair.
"Oh, that you, M'Gee!" said Mr. Binney. "I'm pleased to see you. But you'll excuse me for being a little upset. I've just undergone a piece of monstrous impertinence from my Lord Blathgowrie, and I scarcely know how to contain my anger."
"Toch!" exclaimed M'Gee. "What for do ye want to mix yourself up with such trash? I've come to talk to you about the Union. Sit down, man, and listen."
M'Gee, like Mr. Binney, was a freshman, and like Mr. Binney again, had come up to Cambridge many years later than the average young man enters upon his University course. He was the son of a Highland gillie, and had succeeded with incredible difficulty, as far as money was concerned, in gaining a degree at a Scotch University. But that had not sufficed for him. He was ambitious, and extremely tenacious of ideas. He had early made up his mind to bring his brains to the market of Cambridge, and at Cambridge he accordingly found himself at the age of thirty-seven, with a scholarship at St. John's College, and nothing else upon which to support himself except his determination to succeed to the highest honours that Cambridge could afford. He had joined the Union with a shrewd and resolute eye to the President's chair, but the lighter social success which held such a charm from Mr. Binney's point of view he regarded with the most lofty scorn. Self-contained and self-reliant as he was, however, he was not entirely without a human weakness for sympathy and encouragement in his aims, and had fixed upon Mr. Binney, as one who shared with him some of the accidents of his position, with whom to indulge in the occasional luxury of discussing his ambitions.
"I wouldn't give a thought to these young 'bloods,' as they call them," said M'Gee. "They'll be of no use to ye. They make a big splash while they are up here, but when they go down they're no better than dirt." Here M'Gee snapped a bony finger and thumb. "I'm no saying that I'd like to be nothing but a worker in Cambridge," he went on. "You keep to yourself for three years and you come out Senior Wrangler at the end of it, and they put your picture in the papers. And then you go down, and what glory do you get from it? There's aye one way of getting yourself known here, if you're a man of brains, and that's at the Union. Go round the rooms and look at the pictures of the Presidents from the beginning. Why, man, there's not a dozen of them that isn't known to the world at large. That's fame. And it's the sort of fame that's worth having. Colloguing wi' lords an' that is a puir thing to it."
"You're right, M'Gee," cried Mr. Binney, springing up, "You're right. A lord! What's a lord and all his hangers-on? Froth! Dregs! Dirt! as you rightly remark. I won't have my boy associating with such."
"Leave your boy alone," said M'Gee. "He is a boy, and does very well as he is. You and I are men, and we'll make use of this place which most of them don't know the value of. Study the questions of the day, give a lot of preparation to your speeches, and speak every time the house sits. Force 'em to take account of you and you'll come out top."
"I will," said Mr. Binney, now greatly excited. "Icancome out top if I want to. I know I can. You and I will be carried down to posterity, M'Gee, as two of the greatest Presidents the Union has ever had. To-day's Monday. To-morrow I speak on the vaccination question. I don't take any interest in it, but I'll get the subject up thoroughly in the meantime, and my speech will surprise them."
And so Mr. Binney changed his social aspirations, and wrote long letters to Mrs. Higginbotham describing the acclamations with which he was received when he rose to speak at the Union, and painting in vivid colours the honours paid to the occupant of the President's chair, that chair which had been filled by so many illustrious men.
He and M'Gee spoke every Tuesday in that term. M'Gee was intolerably dogmatic, metaphysical and long-winded, always heard the secretary's bell ring before he had half finished his argument, and invariably emptied the house of all but the long-suffering officials whenever he rose to his feet. Mr. Binney as surely filled it. He was a wind-bag, but a wind-bag who delighted his audience in the same way as a monkey on an organ is a source of appreciation not so much for its innate humour as for the unstudied expression of its personality. It was quite true that Mr. Binney roused the applause of the assembly. The incipient statesmen lolling on the benches or writing notes on their knees or strolling up to have a word with the President in his seat of state, cheered him on, laughed uproariously at his witticisms as well as at his studied and serious periods, and could never have enough of him. It was a long time since any speaker at the Union had amused his audience so well, and he was in the seventh heaven of delight at his popularity until the elections for the officers at the end of the term, when both he and M'Gee stood for the committee, and appeared at the bottom of the list, M'Gee with thirty votes and Mr. Binney with six. This was a serious blow to him, and he began to realise that he had been looked upon as a buffoon.
But before this other things had happened. Although debarred from the society of those with whom he had at first tried to ally himself, Mr. Binney had contracted many acquaintanceships with men of his own year and others who did not place the value of their friendship very high. The boys fresh from school who had come up at the same time as himself looked upon him as a great joke, ate his breakfasts and luncheons and occasional dinners, and asked him to their own in return. As he showed himself anxious to be considered one of themselves, they obliged him, with perhaps more familiarity and slappings on the back than they usually made use of to one another. But Mr. Binney enjoyed it and felt he was getting on famously. He greatly appreciated the tales of daring which freshmen love to tell one another, about exciting runs from avenging Proctors, and smart, one-sided conversations with Deans, in which the freshman is always represented as using such witty and convincing arguments that the Dean can only sit and listen, and is glad to get rid of him at last at any price if he will only allow the management of the college to remain in its present inefficient hands a little longer. Mr. Binney had not as yet emulated any of these deeds of daring, for he still looked upon the authorities with considerable awe, and was turning his attention for the most part towards getting his work ready for the first part of the Littlego and maintaining his reputation at the Union. But he thought them very fine for all that, and it was not long before he fell.
Among his fellow-freshmen was one, Brandon, a Rugby football-player, who had once or twice played for the University. He was not a Blue yet, but he was the next best thing to it, and Mr. Binney cultivated his society in the intervals of his more serious pursuits. Brandon had a friend called Howden who was a Blue, a great, noisy, good-natured, ignorant ox, who was in constant danger of being sent down for his numerous breaches of discipline.
Howden came into Brandon's rooms one morning to fish for a dinner, his affairs being in a chronic state of financial depression. He used no unnecessary finesse in stating his ends.
"I've taken my name off hall to-night," he said, "and don't know where to feed. Got anything going, Brandy?"
"I'm going to dine with Binney," said Brandon. "You'd better come too."
"What! that stuck-up ass!" said Howden. "Didn't know you knew him. No, thanks. I don't mix with Bloods."
"Oh, I don't mean Lucy Binney," said Brandon, "I don't know him. The bantam's my pal."
"What! that little old man!" exclaimed Howden. "Whatever do you want to go and dine with him for? He'll report you to the dons if you make a row, and I don't care for dining where I can't enjoy myself."
"My dear chap," said Brandon, "you can make as much row as you like. He'll be all the better pleased. He's a tremendous little sportsman. He gives you the best fizz and as much as you want of it."
"The deuce he does! All right, I'll come, Brandy. I don't know him. I suppose that don't matter."
"Not a bit," said Brandon. "I'll make that all right. 19A Jesus Lane, eight o'clock."
"Right you are," said Howden. "Don't forget. I shall turn up."
Mr. Binney was as pleased as Punch when he learnt that he was at last going to be honoured by the company of a Blue, and made an excuse to write a note to Minshull in which he casually mentioned that he was expecting Howden, "who plays back for the 'Varsity," to dinner that night.
Howden came and made himself agreeable to his host. Mr. Binney was delighted to find that such a great man was not inclined to stand on any ceremony. The rest of the party were freshmen, who were also inclined to treat the great Howden with deference, but in the course of the dinner the deference vanished, and the company got hilarious and on perfectly good terms with one another. After dinner they "ragged," and played a little game of "Soccer" with a sofa cushion, in the course of which Mr. Binney got the wind knocked out of his body, and was not sorry when his landlord came up to inform him that the chandelier in the room below had fallen down.
"Let's go round and rag old Tubby Vane," said Howden.
Vane was another football Blue, and lived in college. So the party moved round in a body to the New Court. Vane kept on the third floor, and was out, so his visitors were baffled for the moment.
"There's old Miniken keeps below," said Mr. Binney, who was enjoying himself to the full in this distinguished company. "Let's go and raghim."
Miniken was a Union light, a quiet reading man, when he was not thundering forth Radical views in the debates. Mr. Binney did not know him very well, but wished to display the brilliant Howden to his astonished gaze.
"All right," said Howden. "Never heard of him, but I daresay he keeps very good whisky. Come on."
Miniken's oak was sported.
"He's skulking," said Howden. "Let's kick his oak in."
"Hi! Miniken! Come out of that, you old beggar," yelled Mr. Binney; but all was silence.
Howden took a short run and kicked in a panel. Mr. Binney took a short run at the same panel, and got his foot wedged. When he had been extricated with unnecessary violence by his companions, a combined assault was made upon the oak, which presently gave way. The rooms were empty.
Howden turned up the lights and made a search for something to drink, which was unsuccessful, as Miniken was a teetotaller. Then they "made hay" of his rooms, and, after completely changing their aspect, left, to avoid an interview with a porter who was coming up the staircase to see what the disturbance was about. Mr. Binney never doubted but that Miniken would be quite as amused as themselves when he came back, and not a little flattered at receiving a visit from the august Howden, if he found out who was responsible for the altered appearance of his apartments.
When Miniken did return he was naturally annoyed at the discovery of what had taken place. He obtained from the porter the names of his invaders, and sat down and wrote a letter of complaint to the Senior Dean. Then he put his room to rights and went to bed.
In the meantime Mr. Binney went home, greatly pleased with his evening's entertainment. Before retiring to rest he wrote a full account of it to Mrs. Higginbotham, and expatiated on the popularity that must accrue to him from having made a friend of Howden, who, before parting from him, had assured him that he was one of the best fellows he had ever met, and that he would stick by him and come and dine with him whenever he liked.
The next day Mr. Binney was requested to call on the Junior Dean at a specified hour. He did so with some inward trepidation, and waited in the ante-room where a secretary was at work, who informed him that the Dean was engaged, but would see him in a few minutes. Presently steps were heard on the staircase, and to his surprise Lucius entered the room.
"Halloa! you hauled too?" said the little man with a sheepish grin. "What for?"
"I don't know. Chapels, I suppose," said Lucius, who had heard of his father's escapade, and whose face was covered with a deep blush.
"I hope we shan't get gated," said Mr. Binney. "What are you going to say to the old chap?"
Before Lucius had time to reply the Dean's door opened, and Mr. Binney was summoned into the presence of the "old chap," who had been in frocks when "Binney's Food for Poultry" was first becoming known.
"Sit down, Mr. Binney," said the Dean, who appeared unaccountably nervous. "I see you have not kept the requisite number of chapels since the beginning of term. Is there any reason for that? I see by my list that you have not been once to chapel on a Sunday."
Mr. Binney breathed a sigh of relief and drew himself up.
"I prefer to attend my own place of worship on the Sabbath," he said, twisting his cap by the tassel.
"Ah! you are perhaps a Nonconformist," said the Dean.
"I am," said Mr. Binney; "and I'm not ashamed of it."
"No reason to be, Mr. Binney," said the Dean. "I needn't trouble you any more on that score then," and he made a pencil note on the paper before him. "But there is another matter," he went on, "which, I confess, it surprises me to have to bring before a man of your—er—standing. I understand that you and some others broke in the door of Mr. Miniken's rooms last night, and took most unwarrantable liberties with his furniture. I could hardly believe it, but I am assured that it is so."
"It was a mere freak, sir," said Mr. Binney boldly. "I went round with Howden—the football Blue——"
"You needn't bring in anybody else's name," said the Dean.
"Well, we went round to call on—on another football Blue, but he was out, and as old Miniken, who is a friend of mine, happened to live below him, I said, 'Let's go and rouse him up.' He was sported, so we kicked in his oak for a lark. We didn't mean any harm. Of course, I'm quite willing to pay for repairing the door."
The Dean passed his hand over his mouth.
"That you will have to do, of course, you and the others between you," he said. "But I may as well tell you, Mr. Binney, that we don't recognise such larks here. If you want to behave like a troublesome boy, you had better go somewhere else. You are gated at eight for a fortnight, and don't let me hear of any such piece of folly again, or you won't get off so easily."
Mr. Binney took himself off feeling rather ashamed, but still a little pleased with himself. "Gated at eight for a fortnight," he said, as he joined his son in the ante-room, where Blathgowrie had also made his appearance.
"Serve you right, you little ass," said Blathgowrie as Lucius entered the presence chamber. "Now run along and play."
"You were not with your father, I think, when the door in the New Court was broken in?" said the Dean.
"No, I wasn't," said Lucius shortly, his face a deep red.
The Dean threw a quick glance at him.
"Is your father—?" he began, and then stopped.
"Off his head?" said Lucius. "I don't know. I never thought he was until he came up here. I knowIshall be, pretty soon, if this goes on."
"I didn't mean that," said the Dean, "I was going to ask if he intended to stop here until he takes a degree."
"I suppose so, if he isn't sent down first," said Lucius bitterly.
The Dean could not disguise a smile. "Don't get downhearted about it, Binney," he said kindly, "we've all got our little trials to bear. One of mine is having continually to ask undergraduates why they don't come to chapel. I see you haven't kept a single chapel this term. How is that?"
"I was afraid I might meet my father," said Lucius.
The Dean smiled again.
"Your father has conscientious objections to joining in our services," he said, "and I'm afraid I couldn't accept that as an excuse in any case. Have you been anywhere instead?"
"I go to King's sometimes."
"Well, I think you had better come to Trinity sometimes too in the future. Good-night, Binney."
His introduction to Howden was the beginning of Mr. Binney's fall from steadiness. He soon made the acquaintance of other athletes of similar character to Howden, and was very proud of being seen about with them. These accommodating gentlemen had no sort of objection to his being constantly in their company, so long as he fed them generously and put no check on their boisterous behaviour when he was with them. And Mr. Binney was far from wishing to do this. The new cap which he had bought under Lucius's directions was soon exchanged for a very old and battered one. Howden and all his friends were rowdies, and Mr. Binney in his mild way became a rowdy too.
One Tuesday evening towards the end of the term, Lucius found himself in the gallery at the Union listening to a debate on the motion: "That this house views with alarm the growing tyranny of University officials," and sat dejectedly through an uproariously applauded speech from his father, in the course of which Mr. Binney inquired "why a fellow shouldn't smoke in cap and gown if he wanted to," and was twice called to order for alluding to "the progginses."
"Come out of this; it makes me sick," he said to his companion. They went out and strolled slowly down Jesus Lane to Edwards's billiard rooms. Opposite the "Pitt," Mr. Binney passed them with two of his noisy friends, carrying his gown on his arm. He did not notice them, nor a Proctor who was coming along Park Street, and Lucius had the gratification of seeing his father stopped at the corner, and peremptorily ordered to put on his gown by the Proctor. Mr. Binney did as he was told, taking off his gown again when the Proctor had turned his back, and was let into his lodgings feeling himself the very devil of a fellow.
After his first escapade with Howden, Mr. Binney was a little upset by a letter he received from Mrs. Higginbotham in answer to the one in which he had given her an account of the proceedings.
"You must not let yourself be led away by your high spirits," wrote Mrs. Higginbotham, "and pray be careful that these new grand young friends you have made do not lead you astray. I should like you to keep a good character with your masters and bring home a good report at the end of the term. My dear father often used to say that he would rather my brothers won the conduct prize at school than any other, and they always did so, which pleased my father very much until he discovered that they used to buy the prizes themselves out of their very liberal allowance of pocket money and write their master's name in them, which was not right, and earned them a whipping from Mr. Wilkinson who was at that time the head of the Lewisham Academy for Young Gentlemen, where they were educated, as well as another from my father, which they told me was far the worse of the two, as I can quite credit, because my dear father, who made his own way in the world, had been employed in early life in a furniture warehouse, and among his duties was that of beating carpets."
Mr. Binney wrote in answer that little occurrences such as the one in which he had taken part were common in Cambridge and increased the fame of those who inaugurated them, and rebuked Mrs. Higginbotham for talking of his "masters." "The 'Varsity is not a school, my dear Martha," wrote Mr. Binney, "and we are allowed a great deal of freedom to amuse ourselves as we please."
Mr. Binney and Lucius now saw very little of one another, but before Mr. Binney had allied himself with Howden and his crew, Lucius had paid him a visit one afternoon and found a young man with a long, solemn face not unlike Minshull's sitting on Mr. Binney's sofa.
"Ah, Lucius," said Mr. Binney, "I'm glad you have come. This is your mother's cousin, John Jermyn, whose father you may have heard me speak of as a respected clergyman in Norfolk. John tells me he has gained a scholarship at Queens' and I am very glad to hear it—very glad. It is most laudable of him. We must go and call on him when we have time. Let me see, where is Queens'? That little college at the end of the Backs with a wooden bridge, isn't it? Quite so. A very nice little college indeed. I should have liked to have been at Queens' myself if I hadn't been at Trinity. Pity you couldn't come to Trinity, John. However, we can't all be at the best college, can we?"
After a little more patronage from his uncle, John Jermyn took his leave.
"You must look that young fellow up, Lucius," said Mr. Binney, "and he tells me his sister Elizabeth is at Girton. They both came up this term. A clever family. You must go and call on her too—I believe it's allowed—I don't care about going out there myself. Their mother was a great friend of your dear mother's when they were girls together. We never saw much of her after she was married, for her husband held his head high, although I have never heard that he was at Trinity or any good college as a young man. It is our turn to hold our heads high now, but you must certainly call on John and Elizabeth, and show them that we are not too proud to recognise our relations."
Lucius did call on John Jermyn soon afterwards and asked him to lunch. The two young men found they had very little in common and the acquaintanceship dropped.