8000
“Old friends for me! I then know what folly to expect.”
—La Rabide.
9234
N the following morning Kate and I met as usual in the office of the mission; and as usual she appeared three quarters of an hour after the time she was nominally to be expected. She looked more ravishing than ever; the art that conceals art had never more inconspicuously pervaded every line and shade of her garments, every tress of her hair; her smile opened up a long vista of possibilities. Again I strongly felt the sentiments that had inspired me overnight; I could have closed the desk on the spot and seized her hands; but I restrained myself and merely asked instead what had become of her fellow-missionary. She was indisposed, it appeared, and could not come to-day.
“She's rather worried about our finances,” said Kate, though not in a tone that seemed to share the anxiety.
I had more than once wondered where the money was coming from and how long it would last, but hitherto I had avoided this sordid aspect of the crusade.
“We can't go on any longer unless we get some more money,” she added. “What with all my other expenses I can't run to much more, and Miss Clibborn isn't very well off.”
“My own purse—” I began.
“Oh,” she interrupted, “we want a capitalist to finance us regularly, and Miss Clibborn has found a man who may help if he approves of our work. He is coming down this morning.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “We are to be inspected by a philanthropist any moment?”
“Yes,” she said, with a laugh. “So you had better get out your papers and look busy.”
“Who is this benefactor?” I inquired, as I hastily made the most of our slender correspondence.
“I can't remember his name; but he is something in the city. Very rich, of course.”
“And if he refuses to help?”
“Then we must shut up shop, I suppose,” she answered, with a smile that was very charming even if somewhat inappropriate to this sad contingency. “Shall you be sorry?”
“Disconsolate!” I said, with more emotion than my employer had shown.
The door opened and the head of our grimy caretaker appeared.
“A gentleman to see you, miss,” she said.
“Show him in,” said Kate.
“The philanthropist!” I exclaimed, dipping my pen in the ink and taking in my other hand the gas bill.
A heavy step sounded in the passage, mingled with a strangely familiar sound of puffing, and then in walked a stout, gray-whiskered, red-faced gentleman whose apoplectic presence could never be forgotten by me. It was my old friend, Mr. Fisher, of Chickawungaree Villa!
“You are—ah—Miss Kerry?” he said, heavily, but with politeness.
As she held out her hand I could see even upon his stolid features unmistakable evidence of surprise and admiration at meeting this apparition in the dinginess of East London.
“Yes,” she said. “And you, I suppose, are—”
“Mr. Fisher—a fisher of—ha, ha!—women, it seems, down here.”
The old Gorgon was actually jesting with a pretty girl! As I thought of him in his diningroom I could scarcely believe my senses.
“And this gentleman,” he said, turning towards me, “is, I suppose—”
He paused; his eyes had met mine, and I fear I was somewhat unsuccessfully endeavoring to conceal a smile.
“Fisher!” I said, holding out my hand. “How do you do?”
He did not, however, take it; yet he evidently did not know what to do instead.
“Then you know Mr. Fisher?” said Kate.
“We have met,” I replied, “and we could give you some entertaining reminiscences of our meeting. Could we not, Mr. Fisher?”
“What are you doing here?” said Fisher, slowly.
“Atoning for the errors of a profligate youth,” I replied, “and assisting in the education and advancement of woman.”
For some reason he did not appear to take this statement quite seriously. In England, when you tell the truth it must be told with a solemn countenance; no expression in the face, nothing but a simple yet sufficient movement of the jaws, as though you were masticating a real turtle. A smile, a relieving touch of lightness in your words, and you are instantly set down as an irreverent jester.
“Miss Kerry,” he said, sententiously, “I warn you against this person.”
“But—why?” exclaimed the astonished Kate.
“I say no more. I warn you,” said Mr. Fisher, with a dull glance at me.
“Come, now,” I said, pleasantly, for I recollected that the mission depended on this monster's good-humor, “let us bury the pick-axe, as you would say. The truth is, Miss Kerry, that Mr. Fisher and I once had a merry evening together, but, unluckily, towards midnight we fell out about some trifle; it matters not what; some matter of gallantry that sometimes for a moment separates friends. She preferred him; but I bear no grudge. That is all, is it not, Fisher?”
And I gave him a surreptitious wink to indicate that he should endorse this innocent version of our encounter.
Unluckily, at this point Kate turned her back and began to titter.
The overfed eye of Fisher moved slowly from one to the other of us.
“I came down here,” he said, “at my friend Miss Clibborn's request to—ah—satisfy myself of the usefulness of her mission. Is this a mission—or what is it?”
“It is a mission,” replied Kate, trying hard to sober herself. “We are doing ex—ex—cellent work.”
But at that point she had recourse to her handkerchief.
“Our work, sir,” I interposed, “is doing an incalculable amount of benefit. It is the most philanthropic, the most judicious—”
I stopped for the good reason that I could no longer make myself heard. There was a noise of altercation and scuffling outside our door that startled even the phlegmatic Fisher.
“What on earth is this?” he demanded.
The door opened violently.
0239m
“I can't 'old 'er no longer,” wailed the voice of our caretaker, and in a moment more there entered as perfect a specimen of one of the Furies as it has ever been my lot to meet.
She was a woman we had never seen before, a huge creature with a bloated face adorned by the traces of a recently blacked eye; her bonnet had been knocked over one ear in the scuffle with the caretaker, and her raw hands still clutched two curling-pins with the adjacent locks detached from her adversary's head.
“Madam,” I said, “what can we do for you?”
I was determined to let Fisher see the businesslike style in which we conducted our philanthropic operations.
“Where is he? Where the bloomin' blankness is he?” thundered the virago.
Poor Kate gave a little exclamation.
“Leave her to me,” I said, reassuringly. “Where is who, my good woman?”
“My 'usband. You've gone and stole my 'us-band away! But I'll have the law on yer! I'll make it blooming hot for yer!” (Only “blooming” was not the adjective she employed.)
“Who are you, and what do you want?” said Fisher.
There was something so ponderous in his accents that our visitor was impressed in spite of herself.
“My name is Mrs. Fulcher, and I wants my 'usband. Them there lydies wot's come 'ere to mike mischief in the 'omcs of pore, hinnercent wiminen, they've give Mrs. Martin the money to do it.”
“To do what?” said Fisher.
“To go for a 'oliday to the seaside, and she's took my 'usband with her!”
“Taken your husband!” I exclaimed. “Why should she do that?”
“Because she ain't got no 'usband of her own, and never 'ad.MissisMartin, indeed! Needin' a 'oliday for 'er 'ealth! That's wot yer calls helevatin' wimmen! 'Elpin' himmorality, I calls it!”
“This is a nice business, young man!” said Fisher, turning to me.
Unfortunately for himself he had the ill-taste to smile at this triumph over his ex-burglar.
“Oh, you'd larf, would yer!” shrieked the deserted spouse. “You hold proflergate, I believe you done it on purpose!”
“Me?” gasped Fisher. “You ill-tempered, noisy—”
But before he could finish this impeachment he received Mrs. Fulcher's right fist on his nose, followed by a fierce charge of her whole massive person; and in another moment the office of the women's mission was the scene of as desperate a conflict as the bastion of the Malakoff. Kate screamed once and then shut her lips, and watched the struggle with a very pale face, while I hurled myself impetuously upon the Amazon and endeavored to seize her arms.
“Police! Call the police!” shouted Fisher.
“Perlice, perlice,” echoed his enemy. “I'll per-lice yer, yer dirty, himmoral hold 'ulk!”
And bang, bang, went her fists against the side of his head.
“Idiot, virago, stop!” I cried, compressing her swinging arm to her side at last.
“Send for the police!” boomed the hapless Fisher.
“Police!” came the frenzied voice of the caretaker at the front door.
“I'll smash yer bloomin' 'ead like a bloomin' cocoanut!” shouted Mrs. Fulcher, bringing the other arm into play.
“Compress her wind-pipe, Fisher,” I advised. “Tap her claret! Hold her legs! She kicks!”
0242m
Such a contest was too fierce to last; her vigor relaxed; Fisher was enabled to thrust her head beneath his arm, and I to lift her by the knees, so that by the time the policemen arrived all they had to do was to raise our foe from the floor and bear her away still kicking freely and calling down the vengeance of Heaven upon us.
My first thought was for the unfortunate witness of this engagement.
“You are upset, Miss Kerry; you are disturbed, I fear. Let me bring you water.”
“I'm all right, thanks,” she replied, with wonderful composure, though she was pale as a sheet by now.
“But what is this?” I cried, pointing to a mark on her face. “Were you struck?”
“It's nothing,” she replied, feeling for her handkerchief. “She hit me by mistake.”
So engrossed was I that I had quite forgotten Fisher; but now I was reminded by the sound of a stentorian grunt.
“Ugh!” he groaned. “Get me a cab; fetch me a cab, some one.”
Blood was dripping from his nose; his collar was torn, his cheeks scarred by the nails of his foe; everything, even his whiskers, seemed to have suffered. It would not be easy to persuade this victim of the wars to patronize our mission now, but for Kate's sake I thought I must try.
“Well, Fisher,” I said, heartily, “you are a sportsman! Your spirit and your vigor, my dear sir, were quite admirable.”
For reply he only snorted again and repeated his demand for a cab. Well, I sent one of a large crowd of boys who had collected outside the mission to fetch one, and suavely returned to the attack. It was not certainly encouraging to find that he and Kate had evidently exchanged no amenities while I was out of the room, but, ignoring this air of constraint, I said to him:
“We shall see you soon again, I trust? We depend upon your aid, you know. You have shown us your martial ardor! let us benefit equally by your pacific virtues!”
“I shall see myself—” began Fisher. Then he glanced at Kate and altered his original design into, “a very long way before I return to this office. It is disgraceful, sir; madam, I say it is disgraceful.”
“But what is?” I asked.
“Everything about this place, sir. Mission? I call it a bear-garden, that's what I call it.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Fisher,” began Kate, but our patron was already on his way out without another word to either of us. And I had been his rescuer! He slammed the door behind him, and that was the last of my friend Fisher.
For a moment or two we remained silent. “Well,” said Kate, with a little laugh, “that's the end of our mission.”
“The end, I fear,” I replied.
8000
“Do I love you? Mon Dieu! I am too engrossed in this bonnet to say.”
—Hercule d'Enville.
9245
N hour has passed since the departure of Fisher; the crowd outside, after cheering each of the combatants down the street, has at last dispersed; the notice at the door informing all females of our patronage and assistance has been removed; the mission has become only a matter for the local historian, yet we two still linger over the office fire. Kate says little, but in her mind, it seems to me, there must be many thoughts. She has recovered her composure and reflections have had time to come. I, with surprising acumen and confidence, speculate on the nature of these. Disillusionment, the collapse of hopes, and the chilly thaw that leaves only the dripping and fast-vanishing remnants of ideals; these are surely what she feels. As I watch her, also saying little, her singular beauty grows upon me, and my heart goes out in sympathy for her troubles, till it is beating ominously fast. “Yes,” I say to myself, “this is more than Plato. I worship at the shrine of woman. No longer am I a sceptic!”
My sympathy can find no words; yet it must somehow take shape and reach this sorrowing divinity. I lay my hand upon hers and she—she lets me press her fingers silently, while a little smile begins to awake about the corners of her wilful mouth.
“Poor friend!” I exclaim, yet with gentle exclamation. “Yes, disillusionment is bitter!”
She gives her shoulders a shrug and her eye flashes into the fire.
“It is not that,” she replies. “It's being made a beastly fool of.”
For an instant I get a shock; but the spell of the moment and her beauty is too strong to be broken. It seems to me that I do but hear an evidence of her unconquerable spirit.
“You have a friend,” I whisper, “who can never think you a fool. To me you are the ideal, the queen of women. You may have lost your own ardent faith in woman through this luckless experiment, but you have converted me!”
At this she gives me such a smile that all timidity vanishes. “Kate!” I exclaim, and the next moment she is in my arms.
For a silent five minutes I enjoyed all the raptures that a beautiful woman and a rioting imagination can bestow. Picture Don Quixote embracing a Dulcinea who should really be as fair of face as his fancy painted her. Would not the poor man conceive himself in heaven even though she never understood a word of all his passion? For the moment I shared some of the virtues of that paladin with a fairer reason for my blindness. Her soft face lay against mine, the dark lashes hid her eyes, her form yielded to every pressure. What I said to her I cannot remember, even if I were inclined to confess it now; I only know that my sentiments were flying very high indeed, when suddenly she laughed. I stopped abruptly.
“Why do you laugh?” I asked.
She raised her head and opened her eyes and I saw that there was certainly no trace of sentiment in them.
“You are getting ridiculous,” she said. “Don't look so beastly serious!”
“Serious!” I gasped. “But—but what are you?”
She smiled at me again as kindly and provokingly as ever. But the veil of illusion was rent and it needed but another tear to pull it altogether from my eyes.
“You do not love me, then?” I asked, as calmly as I could.
“Love?” she smiled. “Don't be absurd!”
“Pardon!” I cried. “I see I have neglected my duties hitherto. I ought to have been kissing you all this time. That would have amused you better!”
Ah, I had roused her now, but to anger, not to love. She sprang back from me, her eyes flashing.
“You insult me!” she cried.
“Is it possible?” I asked, with a smile.
Her answer was brief, it was stormy, and it was not very flattering to myself; evidently she was genuinely indignant.
And I—yes, I was beginning to see the ordinary little bits of glass that had made so dazzling a kaleidoscope. I had been upbraiding Dulcinea with not being indeed the lady of Toboso; and that honest maiden was naturally incensed at my language.
I fear that in the polite apology I made her, I allowed this discovery to be too apparent. Again she was in arms, and this time with considerable dramatic effect.
“Oh, I know what you think!” she cried. “You think that because I don't make a fuss aboutyou, I have no sentiments. If you were worth it you would see that I could be—”
She paused.
“What?” I asked.
With the privilege of woman, she slightly changed the line of argument.
“All men are alike,” she said, contemptuously.
“Then you have had similar experiences before?”
“Yes,” she replied, with a candor I could not help thinking was somewhat belated.
“In the Temple?” I asked.
“He made a fool of himself, just like you,” she retorted.
“Yet you assured me there was no one—”
“What business had you with my confidence?” she interrupted.
“I see,” I replied. “So you told what was not quite the truth? You were quite right; people are so apt to misunderstand these situations. In future I shall know better than to ask questions—because I shall be able to guess the answers. Good-bye.”
She replied with a distant farewell, and that was the end of a pretty charade.
I went away vowing that I should never think of her again; I lunched at the gayest restaurant to assist me in this resolution; I planned a series of consolations that should make oblivion amusing, even if not very edifying; yet early in the afternoon I found myself in her uncle's apartments, watching the old gentleman put the finishing touches to “A portrait from memory of Miss Kate Kerry.” That picture at least did not flatter! I had told him before of our ripening acquaintance and my engagement as secretary, and I think the General had enough martial spirit still left to divine the reason for my philanthropic ardor. To-day he quickly guessed that something unfortunate had happened.
“Had a row with Kate, eh?” he inquired.
“A row?” I said, endeavoring to put as humorous a face on it as possible. “General, I pulled a string, expecting warm water to flow, and instead I received a cold shower-bath.”
I fear I must have smiled somewhat sadly, for it was in a very kindly voice that the old gentleman replied:
“I know, mossoo; I know what it feels like. I remember my feelings when a certain lady gave me the congé, as you'd say, in '62—was it?—or '63. Long time ago now, anyhow, but I haven't forgotten it yet. Only time I ever screwed my courage up to the proposing point; found afterwards she'd been engaged to another man for two years. She might have told me, hang it!—but I haven't died of broken heart, mossoo. You'll get over it, never fear.”
“But it is not that she is engaged; it is not that she has repulsed me. She is your niece, General, but I fear her heart is of stone. She is a flirt, a—” In my heat I was getting carried away; I recalled myself in time, and added:
“Pardon; I forget myself, General.”
“I know, I know,” he replied. “I've felt the same about her myself, mossoo. She's a fine girl; good feelings and all the rest of it, but a little—er—unsatisfactory sometimes, I think. I've hoped for a little more myself now and then—a little—er—womanliness, and so on.”
“I cannot understand her,” I said. “I pictured her full of soul—and now!”
“I used to picture 'em full of soul, too,” said the General, “till I learned that a bright eye only meant it wasn't shut and that you could get as heavenly a smile by tickling 'em as any other way.”
“General!” I exclaimed. “Are you a cynic, then?”
“God forbid!” said the old boy, hastily. “I've seen too many good women for that. I only mean that you don't quite get the style of virtue you expect when you are—twenty-five, for instance. What you get in the best of 'em is a good wearing article, but not—er—the fancy piece of goods you imagine.”
“In a word,” I said, as I rose to leave him, “you ask for a pearl and you get a cheap but serviceable pebble.”
“Well, well,” he replied, good-humouredly, “we'll see what you say six weeks later.”
“I have learned my lesson,” I answered. “You will see that I shall remember it!”
The reader will also see, if his patience with the experimental philosopher and confident prophet is not yet quite exhausted.
8000
“We won't go home till morning!”
—English Song.
9252
ND now for a 'burst'!” I said to myself.
Adieu, fond fancies; welcome, gay reality!”
I dressed for the evening; I filled my purse; I started out to seek the real friends I had been neglecting for the sake of that imaginary one. But I had only got the length of opening my door when I smiled a cynical smile. There was Halfred in the passage playing the same farce with Aramatilda. They stood very close together, remarkably close together, talking in low tones.
“Thus woman fools us all,” I thought.
With a little exclamation Miss Titch flew upstairs while Halfred turned to me with something of a convicted air.
“Miss Titch has been a-telling me, sir—” he began.
“I know; I saw her,” I replied, eying him in a way that disconcerted him considerably. “She has been telling you that woman is worthy of your homage; and doubtless you believed her. Did you not?”
“No, sir. She ain't said that exactly,” he answered; “though it wouldn't be surprising, either, to hear 'er usin' them kind of words, considering 'er remarkable heducation. Wot she said was—”
“That you will serve till she finds another,” I interposed.
“Miss Titch, sir, ain't one of that kind,” he replied, with an air of foolish chivalry I could not but admire in spite of myself.
“Pardon, Halfred. She is divine; I admit it. What did she say, then?”
“She says there's been a furriner pumpin' 'er about you, sir, this very hafternoon.”
“Pumping?”
“Hashing questions like wot a Bobby does; as if 'e wanted hall the correct facts.”
“Ha!” I said. “And he asked them of a woman!”
“Yes, sir; 'e comed up to 'er in the square and says 'e, 'You're Miss Titch, ain't you?' and 'e gets a-talkin' to 'er—a very polite gentleman 'e was, she says—and then 'e sorter gets haskin' about you, sir, and wot you was a-doing and 'oo your friends was, and about the General, too.
“And, in brief, he gossiped with her on every subject that would serve as an excuse,” I said. “Halfred, if I were you and I felt interested in Miss Titch—I say, supposing I felt interested in Miss Titch, I should look out for that foreigner and practise my boxing upon him!”
9254
“Then you don't think, sir—”
“I don't think it was me he was interested in.”
“Well, sir,” said my servant, with a disappointed air, for he founded great hopes of melodrama upon me, “in that case I shall advise Miss Titch to take care of 'erself.”
I laughed.
“Do not fear,” I replied. “They all do that. It is we who need the caution! Yes, Halfred, my sympathy is with that poor foreigner.”
I fear my servant put down this sentiment to mere un-British eccentricity, but I felt I had done my duty by him.
As for the inquisitive foreigner, I smiled at the idea that he had really addressed the fair Aramatilda for the purpose of hearing news of me. I may mention that I had heard nothing more of Hankey; nothing from the league; nothing had followed the arrival of the packing-case; the French government seemed to have ignored my escapade; there were many foreigners in London unconnected with my concerns; so why should I suppose that this chance acquaintance of Aramatilda's had anything to do with me? “If I am wanted, I shall be sent for,” I said to myself. “Till then, revelry and distraction!”
First, I sought out Teddy Lumme. We met for the first time since I left Seneschal Court, but at the first greeting it was evident that all resentment had passed from his mind as completely as it had from mine.
“Where the deuce have you been hiding?” he asked me, with his old geniality. “We wanted you the other night; great evening we had; Archie and me and Bobby and Tyler; box at the Empire, supper at the European, danced till six in the morning at Covent Garden; breakfast at Muggins; and the devil of a day after that. I'd have sent you a wire but I thought you'd left town. No one has seen you. Been getting up another conspiracy, what? Chap at the French embassy told me the other day their government expected your people to have a kick-up soon. By Jove, though, he told me not to tell any one! But you won't say anything about it, I dare say.”
“I can assure you it is news to me,” I replied, “but in any case I certainly should not discuss the matter indiscreetly.”
“And now the question is,” said Teddy, “where shall we dine and what shall we do afterwards?”
Ah, it may be elevating and absorbing to experiment in Plato and guide the operations of philanthropy, but when the head is not yet bald and the blood still flows fast, commend me to an evening spent with cheerful friends in search of some less austere ideal! This may not be the sentiment of an Aurelius—but then that is not my name.
We dined amid the glitter of lights and mirrors and fair faces and bright colors; a band thundering a waltz accompaniment to the soup, a mazurka to the fish; a babel of noise all round us—laughing voices, clattering silver, popping corks, stirring music; and ourselves getting rapidly into tune with all of this.
“By-the-way,” I said, in a nonchalant tone, “have you seen Aliss Trevor-Hudson again?”
“No,” said Teddy, carelessly, and yet with a slightly uncomfortable air.
“Did you become friends again? Pardon me if I am indiscreet.”
“Hang it! d'Haricot,” he exclaimed; “I'm off women—for good this time.”
“Then she was—what shall I say?”
“She kept me hanging on for a week,” confessed Teddy, “and then suddenly accepted old Horley.”
“Horley—the stout baronet? Why, he might be her father!”
“So Miss Horley thinks, I believe,” grinned Teddy. “His family are sick as dogs about it.”
“And hers?”
“Oh, Sir Henry has twenty thousand a year; they're quite pleased.”
I smiled cynically at this confirmation of my philosophy.
“I say, have you got over your own penshant, as you'd call it, for the lady?” asked Teddy.
“My dear fellow,” I said, lightly, “these affairs do not trouble me long. I give you a toast, Teddy—here is to man's best friend—a short memory!”
“And blow the expense!” added Teddy, somewhat irrelevantly, but with great enthusiasm.
“A short life and a merry one!” I exclaimed.
“Kiss 'em all, and no heel-taps!” cried Teddy. “Waiter, another bottle, and move about a little quicker, will you? Getting that gentleman's soup, were you? Well, don't do it again; d'ye hear?”
0258m
At this moment a piercing cry reached us from the other side of the room. It sounded like an elementary attempt to pronounce two words, “Hey, Teddy! Hey, Teddy!” and to be composed of several voices. We looked across and saw four or five young men, most of them on their feet, and all waving either napkins or empty bottles. On catching my friend's eye their enthusiasm redoubled, and on his part he became instantly excited.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Excuse me one minute.”
He rushed across the room and I could see that he was the recipient of a most hilarious greeting. Presently he came back in great spirits.
“I say, we're in luck's way,” he said. “I'd quite forgotten this was the night of the match.”
It then appeared that the universities of Oxford and Cambridge had been playing a football match that afternoon and that on the evening of the encounter it was an ancient custom for these seats of learning to join in an amicable celebration of the event.
“The very thing we want,” said Teddy. “Come on and join these men—old pals of mine; dashed good chaps and regular sportsmen. Come on!”
“But,” I protested, as I let him lead me to these “regular sportsmen,”
“I am neither of Oxford nor Cambridge.”
“Oh, that doesn't matter. Hi!” (this was to call the attention of his friends to my presence). “Let me introduce Mr. Black, of Brasenose; Mr. Brown, of Balliol, Mr. Scarlett, of Magdalen; Mr. White, of Christchurch. This is my honorable and accomplished friend, Mr. Juggins, of Jesus!”
At this there was a roar of welcome and a universal shout of “Good old Juggins!”
“But indeed my friend flatters me!” I exclaimed. “I have not the honor to be the Juggins.”
No use in disclaiming my new name, however. Juggins of Jesus I remained for the rest of that evening, and there was nothing for it but to live up to the character. And I soon found that it was not difficult. All I had to do was to shout whenever Mr. Scarlett or Mr. Black shouted, and wave my napkin in imitation of Mr. White or Mr. Brown. No questions were asked regarding my degree or the lectures I attended, and my perfect familiarity with Jesus College seemed to be taken for granted. I do not wish to seem vainglorious, but I cannot help thinking that I produced a favorable impression on my new friends.
“Juggins won the match for us,” shouted Mr. White. “Good old Juggins!”
“I did, indeed. Vive la football! I won it by an innings and a goal!” I cried, adopting what I knew of their athletic terms.
“Juggins will make us a speech! Good old Juggins!” shouted Mr. Black.
0260m
“Fellow-students!” I replied, rising promptly at this invitation, “my exploits already seem known to you, better even than to myself. How I hit the wicket, kick the goal, bowl the hurdle, and swing the oar, what need to relate? Good old Juggins, indeed! I give you this health—to my venerable college of Jesus, to the beloved colleges of you all, to my respectable and promising friend, Lumme, to the goal-post of Oxford, to love, to wine, to the Prince of Wales!”
Never was a speech delivered with more fervor or received with greater applause. After that I do not think they would have parted with me to save themselves from prison. And indeed it very nearly came to that alternative more than once in the course of the evening.
0262m
We hailed two hansoms, and drove, three in each, and all of us addressing appropriate sentiments to the passers-by, to a music-hall which, as I am now making my début as a distinguished sportsman, I shall call the “Umpire.” I shall not give its real name, as my share in the occurrences that ensued is probably still remembered by the management. It was, however, not unlike the title I have given it.
My head, I confess, was buzzing in the most unwonted fashion, but I remember quite distinctly that as we alighted from our cabs there was quite a crowd about the doors, all apparently making as much noise as they could, and that as we pushed our way through, my eyes were fascinated by a bill bearing the legend “NEPTUNE—the Amphibious Marvel! First appearance to-night! All records broken!” And I wondered, in the seriously simple way one does wonder under such conditions, what in the world the meaning of this cryptogram might be.
We got inside, and, my faith! the scene that met our eyes! Apparently the football match was being replayed in the promenade and on the staircases of the Umpire. Three gigantic figures in livery—“the bowlers-out” as they are termed—were dragging a small and tattered man by the head and shoulders while his friends clung desperately to his lower limbs. Round this tableau seethed a wild throng shouting “Oxford!”
“Cambridge!” and similar war-cries—destroying their own and each others' hats, and moved apparently by as incalculable forces as the billows in a storm. On the stage a luckless figure in a grotesque costume was vainly endeavoring to make a comic song audible; and what the rest of the audience were doing or thinking I have no means of guessing.
“Oxford! To the rescue!” shouted Mr. Black.
“Vive Juggins! Kick the football!” I cried, leading the onslaught and hurling myself upon one of the bowlers-out.
“Good old Juggins!” yelled my admirers, as they followed my spirited example, and in a moment the house rang with my new name. “Juggins!” could, I am sure, have been heard for half a mile outside.
The uproar increased; more bowlers-out hurried to the rescue; and I, thanks to my efficient use of my fists and feet, found myself the principal object of their attention. Had it not been for the loyal support of my companions I know not what my fate would have been, but their attachment seemed to increase with each fresh enemy who assailed me.
At last, panting and dishevelled, my opera-hat flattened and crushed over my eyes, the lining of my overcoat hanging out in a long streamer, like a flag of distress, I was dragged free by the united efforts of Mr. White and Mr. Scarlett, and for an instant had a breathing space.