Peter Binney: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

CHAPTER XVI

THIRD TRINITY MAKES A BUMP

There never was such a little man as Mr. Binney for getting knocked down flat and picking himself up again as cocky as ever. Lucius's announcement of his engagement to his cousin Betty brought him to his feet as pompous as if he had never been fined by a Proctor or rebuked by a Dean.

"I never heard of such a thing," he said indignantly. "Getting engaged to be married at your age! Why, it's ridiculous. I won't have it. That's flat."

"What won't you have, father?" asked Lucius. "You can't stop my being engaged to her, you know. That's over and done with."

"It is not over and done with, sir," said Mr. Binney. "The engagement, if there is one, must be broken off."

"Why?" asked Lucius.

"Because I say so," said his father.

"You ought to give me a reason," said Lucius. "I'm not a child. I love her and she loves me. Why shouldn't we be married? Of course I don't mean now, but in two years' time or so, when you make me a partner in the business."

"You'll never be a partner in the business," said Mr. Binney, "if you persist in this folly. You're a boy and she's a girl, and I won't have it. It's ridiculous."

"Of course she's a girl. I shouldn't want to marry her if she were an old woman," said Lucius. "If you can't give me any better reason than that, father, I don't think you're treating me fairly."

Mr. Binney laid down the law for half-an-hour or so longer. He did not produce a better reason for refusing his sanction to the engagement, not having a better one to produce, unless he had told Lucius that he was objecting simply for the pleasure of asserting his authority, which was about the long and short of it. Lucius left him at last, somewhat dispirited, and sought the society of Dizzy, his friend.

"Governor won't hear of it," he said, laconically, as he threw himself into an easy chair.

"Why not?" asked Dizzy.

"Wants to show his independence, I fancy," said Lucius. "He talked a powerful lot of rot. Told me he'd turn me out of the house if I didn't break it off."

"Oh, he'll come round," said Dizzy encouragingly. "I know his little ways. You stick to it. You'll find yourself settled in a semi-detached villa at Brixton in a twelve-month, bringing home a basket of fish for dinner, and making a row about the water-rate. It'll turn out right in the end. You see if it don't."

"I don't see much chance of it," said Lucius despondently. "The governor swears he won't allow me enough to marry on for five years at least. I've a good mind to take to gambling and try and pick up a bit that way."

"Rub your eyes, old man," said Dizzy. "This is Cambridge. It isn't a novel by Alan St. Aubyn, although you are in love with a Newnham girl, and the first fellow I've ever known up here who's gone anywhere near it. Not that they're not regular toppers, some of them," he added hastily, anxious to clear himself from any suspicion of being wanting in chivalry. "But that sort of thing don't happen, as they say in the play. And that's all about it."

"Well, it's happened with me," said Lucius. "And I'm pretty well down in the mouth about it."

"Look here," said Dizzy. "Shall I go and tackle your old governor? I daresay he'd listen to me."

Lucius laughed. "I won't stop you," he said, "but it won't be any good."

"We'll see," said Dizzy. "I'll go at once."

When Lucius left his father, Mr. Binney began to turn over in his mind the news he had received. He was not really displeased at it now he came to think it over. Betty Jermyn was a very charming girl, and there was no objection to her on the score of blood relationship, for her mother had only been a second cousin of his wife's. They were both very young, it is true, certainly too young to marry yet; but then they did not want to marry yet. As far as money was concerned, Mr. Binney fully intended to take Lucius into partnership with him in two or three years' time. And even if the girl should prove to be penniless, as was probable, Lucius would have quite enough to marry on directly he gave him a share in the business. At this point in his ruminations Dizzy entered the room.

"Ah, Mr. Binney!" he said. "I thought I'd just look you up as I was passing. How's the work getting on?"

"Very well, thank you, Stubbs," replied Mr. Binney, with a pre-occupied air. "Have you heard anything about this nonsense between Lucius and his cousin?"

"What, Miss Jermyn?" asked Dizzy. "Yes. I did hear they were thinking of getting married or something of that sort. I didn't take much notice of it."

"Then you don't think Lucius is in earnest about it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I should say he was in devilish deep earnest."

"Now, look here, Stubbs," said Mr. Binney. "Don't you think it's a very ridiculous thing a boy not much over twenty getting engaged to be married?"

"Well, if you ask me for a plain answer, I can't say I do. I believe in early marriages myself. It don't come so hard on the children. Now look at my case. My old governor didn't marry till he was past fifty. What's the consequence? When I go down from this place and want to go about a bit and amuse myself, I shall have to sit by his bedside and hold his hand. I'm fond of my old governor, but it isn't good enough."

"That is a point, certainly," said Mr. Binney, thoughtfully.

"Yes, and look at the other side of the question," continued Dizzy. "You married young yourself, I take it, and here you are at the prime of life with a son old enough to be a companion to you. Old enough! Why, bless me, you're the younger of the two, and that's a fact."

Mr. Binney was very much impressed by this argument. "There is a good deal in what you say, Stubbs," he remarked. "I don't want to be hard on the boy, of course, and I've no objection to the girl personally. She seems a very nice girl, what little I've seen of her."

"Oh, she's all right. She's a topper," said Dizzy.

"Of course I've got to keep up my authority, you know," pursued Mr. Binney. "It won't do to slack the rein yet awhile."

"By George, no," said Dizzy. "I should be a whale on parental authority myself if I were in your place. Still, I don't think you'll find Lucius disposed to question your decision. He told me himself he had the utmost faith in your judgment and should follow your advice whatever it might cost him."

"Did he really tell you that?" inquired Mr. Binney, somewhat surprised.

"Well, he didn't put it quite in that way," admitted Dizzy. "But that's about what it came to."

"Then if he feels like that about it," said Mr. Binney, "I shall put no further obstacles in his path. He's a good boy, Lucius, and I'm pleased with him."

"He's got a good father," said Dizzy. "That's about the size of it," and he took himself off to inform Lucius that he had managed everything for him in a perfectly satisfactory manner.

Mr. Binney had asserted his authority and was content. Subject to the approval of Betty's parents, she and Lucius were allowed to consider themselves engaged, with the prospect of marriage when Lucius should reach the age of twenty-three. Mr. and Mrs. Jermyn made no objections. Lucius had made himself very popular in the Norfolk rectory, and he was a good match for their daughter from a worldly point of view. He went about Cambridge for the rest of that term in the seventh heaven of happiness.

A few days after Lucius's future had been satisfactorily settled for him, Mr. Binney had occasion to call on his Tutor. He now no longer looked upon this as an ordeal. The sternest official critic could have found no flaw in his behaviour during that part of the term that was past, and he had no intention of giving any occasion for complaint during the remainder of his residence in Cambridge. He could hold up his head before anybody, and entered the Tutor's presence with an air of conscious worth.

Mr. Rimington received him pleasantly and attended to the business upon which Mr. Binney had come. "I hope you are feeling happy amongst us now that things are going more smoothly, Mr. Binney," he said as he blotted the paper in front of him.

"Thank you," said Mr. Binney, "University life is full of interest to those who know how to value it."

Mr. Rimington looked at him and smiled. "You have found out how to value it now, have you?" he asked.

"Certainly," said Mr. Binney. "I hope, sir, that you do not intend to allude to past mistakes. I should resent such remarks on your part."

"Oh, not at all," said Mr. Rimington hastily, "we have had no cause to complain of you this term, Mr. Binney, and I have no wish to remind you of what is over and done with. I hope you are getting on well with your work."

"I expect to take a first in both parts of the examination," said Mr. Binney, rising. "Good-morning, sir."

As the summer term passed quickly away with its feverish work and its incessant pleasures, for it is the term when examinations closely jostle its crowded gaieties, Mr. Binney found himself nearing two important events. In one week about the beginning of June he was to go in for both parts of his Little-go, and at the end of it to steer the First Trinity first boat in the May races. With regard to his examination, he felt confident of acquitting himself well. That he was over-confident was shown by his boast to Mr. Rimington, for it is not out of material such as himself that first classes are made, even in the most elementary examination that Cambridge affords. But he had worked so hard that he was certain of passing, and he looked forward with trembling hope to a renewal of his intercourse with Mrs. Higginbotham as a reward of his success. In being chosen to steer the representative oarsmen of First Trinity he had been extremely fortunate. When he had so disgraced himself in the previous term after the success of his boat in the Lent races, Mirrilees had sworn that he should never again steer a boat with which he had anything to do. But one of the coxswains tried for the first boat had fallen ill, others had proved unsatisfactory, and by the middle of term, by which time Mr. Binney had already proved that his manner of life would be innocuous for the future, Mirrilees had relented, and he was installed in the proud position that he so coveted. Trinity Hall was the head boat on the river, First Trinity was second, and Third Trinity was behind them. All three were considered equally good, and no one could safely prophesy what the result of the races would be so far as they were concerned. The Hall men laughed at the idea of losing their place; the First Trinity men expected to bump them, and said so; while Third Trinity kept quiet, but expected to find themselves in the second place if not head of the river by the time the races were over.

Lucius was rowing bow in the Third Trinity boat, and his quiet confidence that Third were a better crew than First exasperated Mr. Binney, who wouldn't hear of it.

"Don't talk such nonsense," he said in an annoyed tone, when Lucius ventured to advance the opinion that Third would finish head of the river and First second. "We shall row away from you, and catch the Hall at Ditton on the first night."

"We shall see," said Lucius calmly.

"No, we shall not see, sir," said Mr. Binney angrily. "I mean we shall see. And we shall see that I am right." He had quite recovered his bombastic tone, only he had learnt by bitter experience to quell it, except when addressing his son, who was too good-tempered to resent it.

Betty, of course, showed the utmost interest in the prospects of the Third Trinity crew. She was delighted when she heard that they were to row behind the boat which was to be steered by Mr. Binney, for she still maintained a deep-rooted prejudice against her future father-in-law, in spite of the welcome he had given her as Lucius's intended bride. "If they bump them, and I see it," she said to one of her friends, the girl from whom she had won the box of chocolate creams, "I think I shall scream with joy. Oh, won't cousin Peter's face be worth seeing when he has to hold up his hand and acknowledge he has been beaten. I'd give worlds to see it."

"You show a very vindictive spirit," said her friend.

Mr. Binney's time was fully occupied between putting the finishing touches to his reading, and his work on the river. He had almost entirely dropped out of the social side of University life. Although his wings had been clipped, and he would now have been a quite harmless companion, the men with whom he might have associated, had he behaved differently when he first came up, still looked rather shyly on him; and he had entirely dropped the society of men like Howden, for he had learnt such a lesson that he would have been almost frightened of results if one of them had even come into his rooms. Indeed, the poor little man led a very dull life, and when he had time to think about it, on Sundays perhaps, or for half-an-hour after his work was done, and before he went to bed, he often asked himself what was the use of his staying up at Cambridge at all, since so much of what he had hoped to gain from the place seemed to have been an illusive dream. He had lost his Martha, at any rate for the present, and in his moments of insight he could not disguise from himself the fact that he was unpopular, although he endeavoured to carry off the conviction with an added bumptiousness of manner which did not endear him to those with whom he came in contact. He would probably have made up his mind to leave Cambridge after this term, when he would have passed one examination and attained to a considerable measure of success on the river, but one consideration deterred him. He hoped to be chosen to steer the University boat in the following spring, and on the chance of having that ambition realised he would have stayed on at Cambridge if everyone in the place had cut him.

June came and brought the roses, and with them the anxieties of Triposes and all the multitude of lesser examinations. Mr. Binney went in for the Little-go. All day long he sat at a narrow desk in the Corn Exchange, that classical building which the University of Cambridge periodically hires for the purpose of putting her sons through their facings, and wrote assiduously, only leaving off now and again to gaze up at the roof with an expression of agonised effort, or to rest his brain for a minute by idly reading the names on the corn dealers' lockers which lined the walls. On these occasions he would find his thoughts wandering off to business affairs, for the corn dealers' names meant considerably more to Mr. Binney than to the other few hundred undergraduates who attained a short-lived familiarity with them during those few days of effort. But when he found his thoughts slipping he would bring them back with a frown and wrestle eagerly with his translations and his problems, for the card nailed on to the desk before him reminded him that he was "Binney of Trinity," and that Peter Binney of the Whitechapel Road must be ignored at least for the next few days.

The examination lasted from the beginning of the week until Friday, and the May races began on that day. The hotels and lodgings throughout the town gradually filled up with ladies, old and young, plain and pretty, amiable and perhaps ill-tempered, although the smiling faces one met in all the streets might have given the impression that all the bad-tempered ladies had been left at home. But Mr. Binney took very little notice of the change. By day he slaved in the Corn Exchange. After his afternoon's work was over he went out with his crew on the river. In the evening he looked up his subjects for the following day and went to bed early with his mind full of books and boats. Even Mrs. Higginbotham retired into the background of his mind, and other things were forgotten entirely. By the time the examination was over Mr. Binney was rather despondent. He had done fairly well, but not so well as he had expected. But he remembered a saying of his coach: "If you think you have done rather badly you may have done well. If you think you have done very badly, you probably have." He knew he had not done very badly, so he took heart, dismissed the Little-go from his mind entirely, and threw himself heart and soul into anticipations of success in the races. We have already described the gay scene on the river bank at Ditton Corner in the May races, and one bumping race is very much like another; so the experiences of Mr. Binney, when he had steered in the previous Lent races, were not unlike those he underwent in the Mays. Of course he was now in a much more important position, and his appearance in the coxswain's seat of the First Trinity boat, as the First Division rowed down to the starting-point, never failed to cause a flutter of amusement and inquiry to go through the waiting crowd at Ditton Corner, which brought a blush to the cheek of Betty Jermyn, who was generally to be found in a boat or on the bank, in a position from which she could see everything that was going on.

She did not waste much time, however, on the contemplation of Mr. Binney, in his dark blue coat and speckled straw hat, for in the bows of the boat just in front of him, as they rowed down in reversed order, was a slim muscular figure whose eyes eagerly sought the crowded ranks of the onlookers as the crews rested for a minute on their oars before they went swinging round the bend to their stations. Betty was very proud of her lover then, for even her inexperienced eyes could see that the grace and ease with which he rowed were something to be admired, and poor little Mr. Binney sank still lower in her esteem as he gave the words of command "Get ready all! Forward all! Are you ready? Paddle!" which was the signal for his boat to move on.

On the first night of the races there was no change in the position of the three head boats. Third Trinity drew up to First at Ditton Corner, but then fell away and finished at about their distance. First Trinity gained on the Hall, but never got within a length of them. Mr. Binney steered with great judgment, and was told that he could not have done better, but he was disappointed at not catching the head boat and a little alarmed at Third Trinity having come so close to them during the early part of the race.

"They always bustle up like that at first," said Mirrilees, to whom he confided his tremors. "We shall keep away from them all right, and I hope we shall catch the Hall to-morrow."

Mr. Binney was comforted, but on the next night Third not only got to within a length of them at Grassy Corner but hustled them right up the Long Reach and very nearly caught them at the railway bridge. This pursuit seemed, however, to have increased their own pace, for it drove them right on to Trinity Hall, whom they very nearly succeeded in bumping. All three boats passed the winning post overlapping, but if Mr. Binney had made a shot at the head boat he would almost certainly have missed it, and the boat behind would almost as certainly have run into them.

He was warmly congratulated on his presence of mind by the Captain, but he went home to his rooms by no means at ease, for he now saw plainly that Third Trinity were just as likely to bump First as First Trinity were to catch Trinity Hall. He was as keenly anxious as any member of his crew to go head of the river, and he felt that not only to fail in that object but to be taken down a place instead would be more than he could bear.

It was characteristic of Mr. Binney, as may already have been gathered, to throw himself heart and soul into what he happened to be doing for the moment. He had entirely dismissed all thoughts of his late examination from his mind, and even Mrs. Higginbotham scarcely entered his thoughts during the whole of the next day, which was a Sunday, as he walked or sat and went over, in his mind all the events of the last two races and the probabilities of those that were to come. He was alone all day, for he now had very few friends, and Sunday was for Lucius a happy day spent mostly in Betty's charming society. So Mr. Binney brooded, and by-and-bye dark thoughts began to enter his mind.

During the progress of Saturday's race, when First Trinity had been chased all the way up the Long Reach by Third, Mr. Binney had cast one fleeting glance behind him, and had seen the little indiarubber ball on the nose of the Third Trinity boat within a few inches of his own rudder, while the back of his son was swinging regularly and steadily behind it. An unreasoning anger and jealousy had taken hold of his mind. It was as much as he could do to prevent himself from shouting out to Lucius to ask him where he was coming to. It seemed to him an intolerable thing that he should be prevented from gaining something that he wanted by the action of his own son, and the more he thought of it the more intolerable it seemed. He had only to say a word to Lucius, and Third Trinity would keep away from him, for it was quite certain that if one man in the boat "sugared" they would have no chance of making a bump.

Should he say that word? That was the black thought that held Mr. Binney in its grip during the whole of that pleasant June Sunday, when Cambridge was full of life and gaiety, and he only wandered about lonely and distraught. It would not be sportsman-like behaviour certainly, but Mr. Binney had not been brought up to be a sportsman, and the iniquity of the proceeding did not strike him very forcibly. It also never entered his head that Lucius would disobey his behests if he brought pressure to bear on him. Lucius was entirely dependent on his father, and could be threatened with being immediately taken away from Cambridge if he refused to do what he was told. Mr. Binney had worried himself into such a fever of desire that he could not bring himself to look upon his possible defeat with the slightest equanimity. He would have preferred that his boat should go head of the river on the merits of its crew, but rather than not go head at all, he was prepared to take any steps that would bring about what he desired.

But the morning light happily brought better counsels. He dismissed his half-formed intention of tampering with a member of the Third Trinity crew, and went down to the river with renewed hopes.

The First Trinity men rowed like heroes and got up to the head boat at Ditton Corner. Third were pressing them hard, but lost a little by bad steering.

The shouts from the bank were deafening. Mr. Binney lost his head and made shot after shot. If he had waited, his crew would have made their bump. But in the meantime they lost ground, and Third was creeping up again.

Mr. Binney turned round in his seat and saw a long sharp point with a little ball at the end of it dancing gaily past his rudder. Behind it was the back of his son, swinging regularly.

"Keep off!" roared Mr. Binney, and made another dab at the Head boat. Then he turned round again. The little ball was within reach of him, and behind it was Lucius rowing more vigorously than ever. Mr. Binney was aware of the ball and the back, and nothing else in all the world.

He lost his head completely and turned round in his seat, half rising, pulling his right rudder line, and so crammed his boat right on to the high bank under the tow-path.

"Catch a crab, or you go down to-morrow," he shrieked to Lucius.

The next moment, he could never recall how, he found himself floundering in the river, in an inextricable confusion of boats, oars, and shouting, struggling humanity. He could not swim. As he rose to the surface the blade of an oar hit him on the head. He went down again, and gave himself over, but when he came up the second time he felt himself grasped by the collar of his blazer. "Don't kick!" gasped the voice of his son. "I'll get you out."

When he was hauled on to the tow-path, panting and dripping, he turned round on Lucius in a fury: "What do you mean by it? It was your fault," he shrieked. "You'll go down! you'll go down!"

Mirrilees, dripping from head to foot, with a slimy weed clinging round his leg, shouldered his way through the crowd.

"Hold your tongue, you little beast, or I'll pitch you into the river again," he said.

Other things happened to Mr. Binney that evening, of which he does not now speak—some of them on his way to the First Trinity boat-house, some of them when he got there, others as he made his way for the last time to his rooms in Jesus Lane, and others again before he found himself in the train on his way to London, having shaken the dust of Cambridge from his feet for ever.

The next night Third Trinity bumped Trinity Hall and went head of the river. First Trinity were badly steered by the coxswain who had been put into Mr. Binney's place, and succumbed to Jesus.