Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate Part 17

"I haven't seen Dennison," I said, and added, "I never do if I can help it," for Learoyd's statement that nothing could be done had given me no satisfaction.

"You said that you had done an essay for Edwardes which you weren't going to read. I hadn't done mine, so Dennison said you wouldn't mind me using yours. He got it, and I went to Edwardes at six o'clock to read it, but as soon as I started he began to jump about as if something was stinging him, and after I had read about half a page he kicked me out of the room."

"The man is mad after all," I said.

"No, he isn't, I wish he was," Learoyd continued. "This is what happened: Collier stayed in his rooms this afternoon to do his essay, but went to sleep, and never woke up until it was too late to do it, and then he remembered that you had one which wanted using so he read it to Edwardes at five o'clock. I wish to goodness he hadn't put it back in your rooms."

This was too much for me, and although Learoyd looked as miserable as ever, I had to laugh.

"You wouldn't be so amused if you were in for the row I am," he said, "they will probably take away my exhibition."

"I am in for exactly the same row," I answered. "I tried to read that essay to Edwardes after dinner, and he looked as if he was going to have a fit. I was out of the room in no time."

Then Learoyd and I just sat for two or three minutes and laughed until he felt ever so much better.

"What are we to do next?" he asked. "After all, it was your essay."

"It was no wonder Edwardes jumped about," I said, "I thought he was mad."

"So did I, until I saw Collier. But what are we to do?"

"You say you are in a fairly tight hole," I replied.

"Yes," he said, "I have been in for row after row all this term."

"Then I won't claim this wretched essay, and it can't matter to Collier, because he hasn't got anything which the dons can take away."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why, Collier has got to tell Edwardes he borrowed the thing, and I shall sit tight, so they will naturally think it is yours."

"I can't stand that," he replied.

"Why not?" I asked. "They won't do anything desperate to me, and of course Collier won't mind at all."

I talked until I thought that Learoyd saw how much better my arrangement was than anything he could suggest, and although he would not promise to do what I proposed, I thought that I had arranged everything when I left him. But Learoyd was not the sort of man who would get out of a row by sacrificing any one else, and on the following morning both he and Collier went to Edwardes and told him exactly what had happened. It was very nice of them to do it, but it deprived me of the comfortable feeling of having done Learoyd a really good turn, and brought me to the ground again rather too abruptly to please me. So having been kicked out of the room for nothing, I went at once to Edwardes and tried to convey to him, as one man would to another, that I would forget his treatment of me if he would let off Collier and Learoyd, but especially Learoyd, as lightly as possible.

That mission of mine, however, was a mistake. Mr. Edwardes said he was not in a position to bargain with any undergraduate, and that he had no doubt that should the dons require my a.s.sistance in managing the college they would ask me to help them. After I had left him I should think he must have regretted saying such sarcastic things, for Learoyd only got a final warning that his exhibition would be taken away at the end of the term unless he worked properly, and nothing whatever happened to Collier. But I am afraid Edwardes never gave me the credit for my essay which I felt that I deserved.

CHAPTER XIII

NINA COMES TO OXFORD

There can be few men in Oxford who do not enjoy themselves during Eights' Week, and I imagine that the only miserable people to be found are those who happen to be in an eight which is b.u.mped several times during the week. If any one is so misguided that he wants to make a study of depression I should advise him to take a seat on the barge of a college which has a very bad eight, and if he waits until the boat comes back to the barge he will see some of the most unsmiling faces in the world.

Rowing is a most serious form of sport, and no one can wonder that a crew which has been b.u.mped is unable to look very cheerful. It seems to me that a rowing man deserves a lot of credit even if he rows very badly; indeed I am not sure that the man who rows the worst does not deserve the most credit, for he has gone through the same drudgery as the rest of the crew, and has probably been sworn at a thousand times more often. I should be very surprised if a rowing man at the end of so much forcible criticism and strenuous labour could smile when his boat is b.u.mped. I know that if I had ever been in a boat which had been b.u.mped, and the only reason why I have not been is because I have never rowed in a b.u.mping race, I should want to hit somebody over the head with my oar or denounce the c.o.x. c.o.xes, indeed, have told me that although they have never seen my first wish put into practice, my second is such an ordinary occurrence that the c.o.x who has not suffered from it must be either deaf or a genius. And if a reasonable man cannot help being sorry for an eight which has toiled many weeks only to be b.u.mped, I think he ought to be far more sorry for the c.o.x, whose cool appearance when the rest of his crew are hot and angry, is in itself an aggravation.

I must say, however, that the only c.o.x I ever knew well could not have failed to deserve all he ever heard, he was one of those pretentious little people who can only be described by the word "perky," and his side was simply terrific. But all the same, if a very small man goes up to Oxford and guesses that it will be his fate to steer slow eights during the time he is there, I should advise him to start a society for the protection of c.o.xes, and elect himself the first president. He will not do the slightest good, but he will get some fun from being president, and he will also be able to choose colours for the society and wear a gorgeous tie, if there is any combination of colours which has not already been annexed, and there can't be many left to choose from.

It is the easiest thing in the world to start clubs if all you want to get out of them is a remarkable tie and hatband, and I knew a man--by sight--who started three clubs in two years. The first he called "The Roysterers," and they were supposed to dine twice a term in waistcoats decorated with R.D.C. b.u.t.tons; the second he named "The Oddfish," a club which was intended to be eccentric, and from the extraordinary colours they adopted I should think they were aptly named. Their chief function was drinking, and although I never went to any of their carousals I believe they discharged it thoroughly. The third club which this energetic man founded was not given up to eating and drinking, but devoted itself to the discussion of moral and artistic subjects. They called themselves "The b.u.mble-Bees," though I never could understand the reason why they chose such a name, unless it was, as Murray suggested, that after they had touched a thing there was no sweetness left in it. I should not like to say how many more clubs this man would have started had he been given the opportunity, but he was sent down at the end of his second year, and I have met him since in Florence wearing a b.u.mble-Bee tie and Oddfish ribbon round his straw-hat. I regret to say that he belonged to St. Cuthbert's, and he was really a nuisance, because there was so strong a feeling against these miscellaneous colours during my first summer term that nearly all the men who could do anything respectably wore black bands on their straw-hats, and the effect was most dismal.

Dennison heard that my sister was coming up for Eights' week, and he told me calmly that he should like to meet her. I may have imagined that he considered this an act of condescension on his part, for I cannot pretend that I was always fair to him. I distrusted him so thoroughly that I never believed a word he said, and the only possible way for peace between us was for each of us to leave the other alone.

But this way did not suit him, for I suppose that I knew too many men to be left out entirely from his consideration, and it seems to me that it is more annoying for a man to be friendly when you want to have nothing to do with him, than it is for anybody to take no notice of you when you would be glad to be his friend. I did not, however, mean to let Nina meet Dennison, for I never knew whom she might like or dislike, and it would have been a most horrible complication if she had fallen a victim to Dennison's smile. So I told him that Nina would not be in Oxford for more than two or three days, and that I did not know her plans, which was true enough as far as it went, and must have been enough for him to understand what I meant.

Although I was useless in a boat, I was always most vigorously excited during Eights' week. Three years before I went to Oxford St.

Cuthbert's had been head of the river, but we had by slow degrees dwindled down to fifth, and in spite of one or two men who a.s.sured me that we had a much better eight than we were thought to have, I knew that we were more likely to go down than up. Still I am sorry for the man who does not feel his nerves tingle at the prospect of a race, and you tingle all the more if you do not expect to be beaten, so I tried to forget the general opinion about our eight and to imagine that the boat in front of us was going to have an anxious time.

Brasenose was head of the river, and after them came New College, Magdalen, and Christ Church; we were fifth, and I took no interest in the boat behind us, though I did know that it was Trinity. So keen was I that I resolved to run with our boat if I could get any one to run with me, and I asked quite half-a-dozen men before I found somebody who was not looking after his own or somebody else's sisters. The man who said he would run with me was Jack Ward, and he surprised me very much when he told me that he would far rather see some of the racing than sit on a barge with a crowd of ladies, and he even consented to run all the first three nights and then help me to look after Nina when she came up. He knew, I expect, that I was not likely to run very far, and that there was no danger of his being left somewhere near Iffley to walk up by himself.

I have a feeling that if I had to sit in a boat and hear the seconds counted out before the starting-gun is fired that my first stroke would be a most terrific crab. Even standing on the bank is nervous enough work, and what it must be like for those who have got to row I cannot imagine. I kept moving about so much before the start that Ward told me I should be tired before I began to run, but I am unable to keep still when things are going to happen, and just before the last gun went I had an inspiration and moved up to the place from which Christ Church started. By this means I kept up for quite a long way, but it would be untrue to say I enjoyed myself. We began to gain on Christ Church at once, and were very soon within half-a-length of them, but I had no breath to use for shouting, and not having a rattle I could make no row at all; moreover I am an erratic runner, so whenever I looked at the boats I kicked or ran into somebody, and I could not retort when they said things to me. I pounded along as far as the Long Bridges, which was really quite a long way, and when I stopped I was sure that we should catch Christ Church. I stood away from the path and tried to persuade myself that I was not feeling very unwell, but I waited until the crowds with the other boats had pa.s.sed by, and then I walked as fast as I could up the towing-path. I even ran once, for a short way, because I wanted to get back before all the excitement had stopped on our barge. I felt certain that we were going head of the river, and that comfortable sensation seemed to improve my wind, but it took me some time to get up the towing-path. The first disconcerting thing I saw were a lot of people cheering frantically on what I thought was the Trinity barge, but I did not know all the barges properly, and I came to the conclusion that whoever had told me that this one belonged to Trinity could not have spoken the truth. So I forced my way up the path until I got opposite to our barge, and there I found Jack Ward looking very purple in the face.

"Did we catch them?" I asked, and I thought that all our men who were waiting to be punted across to the barge might have made a little more noise.

"Catch what?" he said.

"Why, the House of course," I answered, for it was not very likely we should catch any one else.

"Trinity caught us," he replied, and as the punt came over at that moment he gave a huge shove and managed to get into it. I looked across the river and saw a very silent crowd on our barge, so I decided it was no place for me and walked solidly to the end of the towing-path and went home over Folly Bridge. It was a long way round, and I cannot imagine any one going back to St. Cuthbert's by such a route if he felt happy. When I saw Jack Ward at dinner I said that I should not run any more, and he replied that I was a fairly poor sort of sportsman; so I did run on both Friday and Sat.u.r.day, and on Sat.u.r.day night St.

Cuthbert's was eighth on the river instead of fifth, and as we could find no other excuse we said that our crew was stale, but I am afraid the truth was that they were fairly fast for about half the course and then went to pieces.

I had not told Nina that our eight was a bad one, and what she would say I did not care to think, for she never paid any attention to excuses, and was rather inclined to consider that I was insulting her personally when I was connected with anything which was not successful.

At any rate I was thankful that we were still a long way above Oriel, for I knew that Nina would never understand that Oriel had given themselves up, more or less, to cricket and soccer, and were not very afflicted by the fact that their boat was nearly bottom of the river.

I was sure that when Fred explained things to her she would say, "But why don't you row as well, I should hate to have my college at the bottom?" and this was almost exactly what happened. Fred made an effort to get out of it by saying that Oriel was only a small college and could not be expected to be good at everything, but Nina evidently thought that it was large enough to have eight men who could row, and she was not inclined to be pleased with either Fred or me when we went to the Rudolf and lunched with Mrs. Faulkner on the Monday. It was characteristic of Mr. Faulkner that he had not been able to come to Oxford, and his chief function in life, as far as I ever discovered it, was to get out of accompanying his wife on her countless expeditions.

"It seems stupid coming up here to see St. Cuthbert's b.u.mped and Oriel nearly last on the river. I understood from G.o.dfrey that St.

Cuthbert's had a great reputation for rowing," Nina said.

I avoided Fred's eye, for I thought that he might be amused, and to turn the conversation away from a dangerous subject, I took upon myself to make what seemed to me a wise remark.

"There are other things to see in Oxford besides the b.u.mping races," I answered.

Nina sniffed very audibly, but Mrs. Faulkner hastened to the rescue.

"I think G.o.dfrey is quite right," she said; "it is disappointing to find that the colleges in which we are especially interested are so unlucky, but Nina hasn't seen Oxford before, and I am sure she will be delighted with it;" and Nina, who really could be quite nice when she liked, forgave Fred and me for the iniquities of our eights, and answered that she was longing to go out.

Of course Mrs. Faulkner fell to my lot, and while we walked down the Broad it pleased her to talk about Nina and to make me say that she was very pretty. I did think that Nina was not bad-looking, but she was my sister and I should as soon have thought of saying that she was wonderfully pretty, as I should of declaring that there was a striking resemblance between the Apollo Belvedere and myself, and my imagination has never carried me as far as that. As I was not saying much about Nina Mrs. Faulkner tried to make me talk about myself, but I interrupted her.

"This is St. Cuthbert's," I said; "shall we go in?"

She looked at me and smiled. "You are really rather extraordinary, G.o.dfrey; if any one tries to flatter you, you shut up like a hedgehog.

I am sure you have improved immensely and I am beginning to like you very much," she declared.

I simply detested her at that moment, for when people make remarks like that I feel as if some one was pouring cold water down my spine, and as I meant to show Nina round St. Cuthbert's I managed to change companions in the lodge, and left Fred to listen to the improvements in himself, which Mrs. Faulkner, with her great gift for romance, was sure to say that she had discovered.

As soon as I got Nina into the big St. Cuthbert's quad she forgot that she had started by almost quarrelling with me. I was born, unfortunately, without a keen eye for beautiful things, and even when I see something which I like to look at again and again, some scene which gives you a peaceful feeling or a picture which helps you to forget that there is anything ugly in the world, I cannot express myself.