Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate Part 16

"I took a lot of trouble over this essay, I changed my style----"

"The first sentence was fairly magnificent; it reminded me of Lambert walking across the quad," Murray interrupted me by saying.

"I wrote that sentence on purpose so that Edwardes might enjoy the contrast afterwards."

"There aren't many men who would have thought of that," Fred said, and, as he was trying to rot me, I agreed with him quite seriously, and added that I thought it was very kind of me to think so much about Edwardes.

"But didn't he like the contrast?" Murray asked, and I thought the way he looked at Fred, as if something was amusing him, was fairly hard upon me.

"He would have liked it," I said emphatically, "if I had ever given him a chance. I mean if he had ever given me one."

"What do you mean?" Fred asked, and I could see that it was time for me to come to the point of my tale.

"After I had read a sentence and a half, Edwardes hopped out of his chair, glared at me and said he wanted to hear no more. He then kicked me out of the room, and what I want to know is the reason why he did it; and if you two fellows can tell me that instead of grinning like two Chinese idols, you will be of some use." The recital of my ill-treatment had made me annoyed with both Fred and Murray.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but both of them were, I regret to say, amused. They missed the serious injustice of my story altogether, and though there was some excuse for Fred, who must have found it difficult to think of anything except his blue, there was no reason why Murray should not do or say something to show how sorry he was for me.

"He couldn't have turned you out of the room for that," was all he said.

"I tell you he did, and he was angry, very angry. The man has gone utterly and hopelessly cracked; it is just my luck to get a lunatic for a tutor," I replied, forgetting for the instant that Murray also had a share in Edwardes.

"He was sane enough yesterday," Murray said.

"Perhaps he is one of those fellows who is affected by the sun," Foster put in.

"There has been precious little sun to-day," Murray, who was in a most aggravating mood, declared.

"I never said anything to him, but just began to read my essay, and then he jumped on me. I shall complain to the Warden and see what he has to say about it. I like the Warden," I added, by way of showing Murray that I could appreciate a reasonable don when I found one.

Fred said that the whole thing was extraordinarily queer, and that there must be some explanation of it; but Murray, after being quiet for a minute, began to fidget like a man who has been puzzling over an acrostic, and is beginning to discover what it is all about. My people used to do acrostics, and, when they were completely defeated, I did not mind being in the same room with them; but, as soon as they got some clue, my father fairly ramped around seeking books which he could not find, or asking me for information which I could not give him. He had the acrostic mania quite badly.

"I can tell you why Edwardes kicked you out; at least I believe I can,"

he said at last.

"Well, let us have it quick," I answered.

"In the common-room the night before last you said that you were going to town to-day and that you wouldn't be able to read your essay to Edwardes."

"I was going up to see a dentist, and he wrote that he couldn't see me," I replied.

"And Dennison heard you say that you were going?"

"The silly fool tried to make out that I was manufacturing the dentist story. He simply makes me sick, but I don't see what he can have to do with this."

"Did you see either Dennison or Learoyd in hall to-night?"

"They weren't there, because I heard Webb asking Collier whether he had seen them."

"I've never heard of Learoyd," Foster said, and considering that he had just got his blue I am afraid he must have spent a very dull time, for he was accustomed to see me in trouble, and might reasonably have been annoyed to find that even on this special evening I was in my usual state. However, he did not seem to mind very much.

"Learoyd is Dennison's latest discovery," I said; "but he has been found by the wrong man."

"He is an exhibitioner and Edwardes is his tutor," Murray added; "and this afternoon about six o'clock I met Dennison coming out of here and Learoyd was waiting at the bottom of the staircase."

"What on earth was Dennison doing in here?" I asked.

"You aren't much good at guessing," Murray answered; "but I should say that having heard that you were not going to read your essay to Edwardes, and Learoyd not having done one to read, Dennison told him he would borrow yours. I heard you tell Ward that it was just like your luck to have written an essay when you wouldn't be able to read it, and Dennison must have heard you say the same thing."

"Do you mean that Learoyd had been reading out my stuff two or three hours before I went to Edwardes?" I asked, for port always makes my head feel stuffy however little I drink, and I wanted everything put quite clearly before me.

"I should say so," Murray replied.

My next remarks do not matter, but as soon as I had pa.s.sed the explosive state I said, "That all comes from altering my style, and if I hadn't Edwardes must have known that it was my essay."

"Confound your style," Foster replied, "it seems to me that this is likely to land you in a very fair row unless we do something at once.

What sort of man is Learoyd?"

"I hardly knew him until this term, and when I didn't know him I rather liked him, but he has been about a lot with Dennison, and seems to be going to the bad as hard as he can be pushed," I answered.

"That's true enough," Murray said; "Learoyd was one of the nicest men up here until this term, and then Dennison took a fancy to him and the idiot has chucked up working and spends his time trying to be a blood.

I know his people, and have tried all I know to persuade him that he will never make a successful blood--he isn't made for one--but I have done no good. Marten isn't in it with Learoyd for rows with Edwardes, and the worst of it is that if his exhibition was taken away it would be serious. His people are most frightfully hard up."

"That makes the whole thing a thousand times more complicated," I replied, "I can't give a man away who is in a hole already. I had better sit still and see what happens."

"I should think you had better go and see Learoyd," Foster said, "he can't be in a bigger hole than you are." He got up to go, and I said that I should wire to my people in the morning and tell them he had got his blue, but he told me that they knew already, and asked me if I had heard that Nina was coming up during the next week to see the last nights of the eights.

"I had a letter from her last night," he continued, "and she said that Mrs. Marten was going to write to you."

"Who is coming up with her?" I asked, and I felt that if I never wrote to Nina, there was no reason why she should not write to me.

"She is going to stay at the Rudolf with the Faulkners. They are coming next Monday morning," and having told me this, which he knew I should not like, he was kind enough to go away before I told him again what I thought of Mrs. Faulkner. For when Fred had been staying with me at home the Faulkners were a fertile source of dispute between us.

The Faulkners had plenty of money, nothing to do, and no children; they entertained a great deal, and had a mania for taking people up, as it is called. I am almost certain that Mrs Faulkner tried to take me up once, but unfortunately I was expected to run in double harness with a fellow who wore a yellow tie and was no use at anything except talking.

I put up with him for nearly the whole of an afternoon, until he told me that an ordinary dahlia, over which he was gus.h.i.+ng, reminded him of the sun rising over the h.e.l.lespont, and that was altogether too much for me. I left him and offended Mrs. Faulkner by telling her what I thought of him, and she told my mother that it was such a pity that I was so _gauche_. It took me a long time to forgive her for saying that, and I wished Nina was coming to Oxford with some one who did not bother my mother with her opinions.

I sat and pondered over this visit for some time, while Murray kept on telling me that Learoyd would be in bed if I did not hurry over to see him. But what good I could get out of seeing him I could not understand, and Murray became quite abusive before I started.

I knew Learoyd only in the most casual way, and I had never been in his rooms in my life, so I should not have been disappointed if he had been out. I found him, however, sitting by himself, and my first impression was that he was either very sleepy or very sad, but whatever was the matter with him he could hardly have wanted to see me. He was good enough, however, to say he was glad that I had come.

The conversation flagged for two or three minutes until he roused himself suddenly. "I have got the most vile attack of the blues to-night," he said, "and somehow or other I can't shake them off." He seized a decanter of whisky and began pouring some of it into a gla.s.s, and then I did one of those things which I do impulsively and which are occasionally right. I put my hand on his arm and said, "That stuff will only put them off until to-morrow morning." He looked at me for a moment and sat down again. "Why does every one preach to me?" he asked. "I shouldn't have thought you were that sort, though you are a friend of d.i.c.k Murray's." He was not angry, but just hopelessly tired of everything, and he looked so wretched that I felt really sorry for him.

"I don't preach," I answered, "though if I could remember half the things which have been fired off at me they would make a mighty fine sermon. When people take any notice of me they think that I want looking after and they begin to do it, the others leave me alone and say that I shall come to a bad end."

He was evidently feeling so miserable about everything that I thought he might like to hear these dismal prophecies about my future. I even thought they might cheer him up, and make him see that we were in the same boat. But I made a mistake, for he was annoyed at the idea that my future could possibly be as great a failure as his.

"You wouldn't say these things if you really thought you were in a hopeless muddle. I have gone through it all this term, and I know. I have tried to laugh, and I have drunk until I didn't care what happened, but it is all no use. I have made a mess of everything, and there is no one to blame except myself. And then this utterly idiotic row comes on the top of everything."

He sat looking in front of him, and did not seem to remember that I was in the room, and the thought pa.s.sed through my mind that I should be glad to wring Dennison's neck. I asked him twice what row he was talking about before he spoke.

"Hasn't Dennison told you?" he asked. "I left him about an hour ago, and he said he would go and see you. I thought that was what you had come here for, though of course nothing can be done."