CHAPTER V
THE WINE
The faculty of making people angry without meaning to do so is a most fatal possession. When I remember the men I know who seem to be constitutionally unpleasant and who walk about saying sarcastic things, I do think I am unlucky. For I annoy people quite unintentionally, and it must be the most stupid way of bringing about a bad result. I get no fun for my money, so to speak. Honestly I did not hear at what time Mr. Edwardes told me to call upon him, and when I strolled over to his rooms about eleven o'clock on the following morning, I had no idea that he was likely to be more than usually displeased. But it did not take me a moment to discover that he was very angry indeed. From what he told me it seemed that I ought to have appeared at nine o'clock with many other men as unfortunate as I was, and he evidently considered that I had not come at the proper hour because I had thought that one time would do as well as another. I told him that I did not hear him mention any particular time, but I do not think he believed me, and after I had paid him five shillings for being without my cap and gown he did not even thank me, but looked first at his watch and then at a long list which he had on his table.
"It is now a quarter-past eleven, and I believe Mr. Armitage's lecture at Merton begins at eleven o'clock. May I ask why you have decided not to attend his lecture this morning?" and he screwed his mouth up until it seemed to disappear.
His question was difficult to answer, because I could not tell him that Murray and I had decided that Mr. Armitage lectured very badly, and that I had expressed my intention of cutting his lectures whenever I felt inclined. So I said that I had forgotten Mr. Armitage's lecture, which happened to be the truth.
"I am afraid, Mr. Marten, that you take a very light view of your responsibilities," he said. "It is unusual, I imagine, for an exhibitioner of a college to interview the proctor as soon as you have done; the college authorities naturally expect their scholars and exhibitioners to obey the rules of the University, and they also expect them to apply themselves earnestly to their studies. At the present moment I am unable to consider that you have realized either of these expectations."
"Well, sir, they are early days yet," I said with a smile, for I thought it was best to take a cheery view of the situation.
"This is no jest," he replied, and his teeth snapped together very disagreeably.
"I did not mistake it for one," I said, and I wanted to be amicable; "but being without cap and gown last night is not a very awful offence, is it? The proctors would have a very dull time if they did not catch men sometimes."
I cannot imagine why I made that last remark, except that he had fixed his little eyes upon me when I began and it seemed to be dragged out of me.
"I do not think that you need trouble yourself about the duties of the proctors, Mr. Marten. Good-morning, and please remember what I have said to you."
I left his room smiling, and I am sure he thought I was laughing at him; but what really amused me was being called "Mr. Marten," for I had not grown accustomed to my prefix and the sound of it was most comical to me. I am afraid my taste for jokes was very different from that of my tutor.
When I came away from Mr. Edwardes I stood in the front quadrangle and whistled. My whistle is unmusical and penetrative, useful only when a dog has been lost, and some man, whom I did not know, put his head out of his window and said abruptly, "For heaven's sake shut up that vile noise;" another man chucked a penny into the quad and told me he should send something heavier if I did not stop. The front quad was obviously no place for me, but before I had made up my mind where I would go the Warden came out of his house and saw me before I saw him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Marten," he said before I could escape; "it is so unusual to find a beautiful quadrangle totally uninhabited that you seem to be undecided whether to leave it or not. Your whistle as I stood by the open window of my bedroom suggested to me that you are not employing your time most advantageously either to yourself or to others."
He stood by me for a moment, and then moving on with his peculiar shuffle disappeared through the doorway leading into the college gardens. My nerves were becoming upset from these constant encounters, and as I felt that I could not sit down and work until I had some kind of an antidote, I went up to see Jack Ward, who had rooms in the front quadrangle.
I found him, as I thought, most beautifully unemployed, but as soon as he had asked me whether my temper was better in the morning than at night, of which remark I took no notice, he said that he was being worried to death.
There were two telegrams lying on his table, and I thought something awful had happened to his people, so I tried to look sympathetic and replied that if he would rather be left alone I would go at once. Then he broke forth into the language of towing-paths and barges and asked me whether I was a lunatic, which was a fairly nasty question when I thought I was treating his trouble in a becoming spirit. I was not, however, sure what was the matter with him, so I did not say what I might have said but asked him to tell me why he was bothered.
"You see it is like this," he answered, picking up both the telegrams; "one of our groom fellows at home has a brother who knows everything about Blackmore's stable, and he has just wired to me that Dainty Dick will win the Flying Welter at Hurst Park to-day, and I was off to back it when I get a wire from my tipster, Tom Webb, that The Philosopher can't lose the same race. It is Tom's 'double nap' and I am in a hole what to do."
As I had never heard before of Dainty Dick, The Philosopher, Tom Webb or Blackmore, I did not feel in a position to give advice, but I laughed until I felt quite unwell, and Ward walked about the room asking violently why I was amused.
"I thought some of your people were ill when I came in here," I said after some minutes, "and the whole thing turns out to be some gibberish nonsense about Tom Webb, a tipster, and some rotten horses."
"You are most refreshingly green," Ward replied, and he screwed the telegrams together and threw them into the fire.
"What are you going to do?" I inquired.
"That's just it, I can't make up my mind. Tom Webb has sent me twelve stiff 'uns running, and if The Philosopher won and I wasn't on it I should swear for a month."
"Then," I said wisely, "I think you had better back The Philosopher; you ought to think a little of your friends."
The only answer I received to my suggestion was that of all the fools in Oxford I was the most sublime, so I told him that if he backed either of these horses he would be proving that, at any rate, I was not absolutely the biggest fool he knew. But he had begun to read racing guides and calendars, and every now and then made notes upon a piece of paper, so he treated my retort with contempt.
"I believe," he said, with a pencil between his teeth, "that Dainty Dick can give The Philosopher about eleven pounds, and he has only to give him four, so I shall back The Philosopher."
"That doesn't seem very good reasoning," I ventured to remark.
"My opinion's always wrong," he explained, "but I have a thundering good mind to back both of 'em."
"It seems the quickest way of losing your money," I said.
"Don't be such a confounded ass. I know about some of these stables, a man is a fool if you like who bets and doesn't know." He shut up his betting-book with a bang, and I told him the only tale I knew about racing.
"I have a cousin," I began, "who owned racehorses and all the rest of it. He lost every penny he had, and a lot more besides. He knew, as you call it." I did not feel that my tale, though it had the merit of being true, was a good one.
"It is no use for you to sit there and conjure up tragedies," Ward replied. "I can't help gambling, it is in my blood; my father is about the biggest speculator in England. If you want a good tip, buy Susquehambo Consolidated Rubies."
I was not inclined to buy anything except a fox-terrier pup, and I told Ward that he would come a most howling cropper if he did not look out. But I have never yet happened to find the man who was inclined to take my warnings seriously, and Jack Ward, at any rate, was so naturally optimistic, that I might have known that he would take no notice whatever of my advice.
"I shall back both Dainty Dick and The Philosopher," he said, when I had finished; "come down to Wright's with me, and I will have a fiver on each of them. I don't get tips like these every day."
He put on his cap and tried to persuade me to go with him, but I was sick of the man, he seemed to me to be simply throwing his money away; so I went back to my rooms, and finding that Murray had been to Armitage's lecture, I borrowed his notes and copied them into my book, though Murray said, and I thought, that I was wasting my time.
I did not see Ward again until after five o'clock, when he brought an evening paper and a cheerful countenance into my rooms and told me that Dainty Dick had won the Flying Welter, and The Philosopher had been second. "Two pretty good tips, my boy," he said; "nothing but your obstinacy prevented your being on."
Collier had been having tea with me, and was to all appearances asleep when Ward came in, but without opening his eyes he said, "Betting is a mug's game. What price did this brute start at?"
"I don't know until I get the next evening paper, but it is sure to be a good price; there were twelve runners, and they are sure to have backed The Philosopher."
"You are a rotter," Collier stated; "if you are going to stay here, don't talk racing to us. I don't know anything about it and don't want to."
"I know a real hot thing for the Manchester November Handicap, been kept for months," Ward said quite cheerfully.
"We don't want to hear it," I said.
"I am thundering well not going to tell you anyway. You two men ought to be in bed, I am going to find some one who is not half asleep," Ward answered, and he went away with unnecessary noise.
Both Collier and I had promised to go to Lambert's rooms after dinner on that evening; he had asked us because he said we ought to have a talk about the freshers' wine, but we knew well enough that he intended to twang his wretched banjo and sing little love songs which made the night hideous. If only he would have sung comic things he might not have caused such wholesale pain, though I should not like to speak positively upon that point. I did not go to this entertainment immediately after dinner, and when I arrived I found the usual gang, Ward, Dennison and Collier, and one other man who turned out to be Bunny Langham. Everybody except Collier was playing a game of cards called "Bank," the chief merit of which is its simplicity. The dealer puts some money into the pool and deals three cards to each player, who can bet up to the amount in the pool that one of his cards will beat the card which the dealer turns up against him. All that seemed to happen was that Bunny Langham kept on saying, "I'll go the whole shoot," and then complained violently of his luck. It was no game for me and I looked to Collier for amusement, but he had got a bottle of French plums in his lap and was engaged in trying to get them out with a fork which was too short for the job. The banjo had been put back into its case, and though it was not amusing to see four men play cards and Collier over-eating himself, I was content to see the banjo put away for the night, so I got the most comfortable chair I could grasp and waited until somebody thought it was time to go to bed. I sat facing Bunny Langham, and as there was nothing else to do I watched him losing his money, and I should think he was what is called a very good loser. He was a most curious-looking man and wore eyeglasses which did not seem powerful enough, for when he wanted to take any money from the pool or—which happened more frequently—pay something into it, he took them off and put up a single eyeglass which he managed with the skill of one to whom it was a necessity and not an inconvenience. His complexion was pink and white, and he had a small patch of piebald hair over his right car, which in some lights looked like a rosette. But in spite of his odd appearance there was something attractive in his face; it must, I think, have been either his expression or his forehead, for it certainly was not his chin, and a nose never looks its best when shadowed by pince-nez. Dennison was the only winner at the table, and smiled benignly round him when he was not lighting his pipe. Lambert threw his money about with a magnificent air more comical than impressive, and Jack Ward seemed to be the one man whose attention was riveted on the game. When a remark was made on any subject except bad luck, Ward broke in asking some one how much they were going to stake or telling Bunny, who never seemed to know what was going to happen next, that they were waiting for him. I thought "Bank" must be the dreariest of all card games, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before Langham got up and said he must go. When the game was over I asked Ward how much he had won over Dainty Dick, and at once there was a roar of laughter.
"He lost over three pounds," Dennison said
"But how did he manage that?" I asked, for my knowledge of racing being limited I did not understand how he could have backed the winner of this race and yet lost money.
"Why Dainty Dick started at three to one on, so he only won about thirty shillings, and he lost a fiver backing The Philosopher. I thought he had made a fortune by the way he was talking at dinner," Dennison answered.
For a moment Ward looked furious, and the exultant way in which Dennison told me what had happened must have annoyed him tremendously. I felt that Dennison with his seraphic smile was a much bigger idiot than Ward, so I said, "Well, I can't see where the joke comes in, I think it is thundering rough luck," which remark I considered rather noble, for I did think that Ward had been scored off beautifully, only Dennison gibing at him was such a sickening sight that I thought I would put off the few words I meant having with him about Dainty Dick until we were alone.
After Bunny Langham had gone we began to discuss the freshers' wine, but Jack Ward looked so down on his luck that I let him arrange what he liked, though as Collier said to me afterwards, Ward only thought he was deciding everything while Dennison really managed the whole affair and simply twisted him round his fingers.
"Dennison is as clever as a wagon load of monkeys," Collier complained, "he looks like a baby and is as cunning as a Chinaman. I wonder how we can put up with him."
I wondered, too, and I should think everybody else, except Dennison himself, found it difficult to explain his popularity. For he was popular, and since no other reason occurs to me I expect the fact that he was always ready to play the piano must have helped him, Lambert on his banjo was enough to depress a crowd of Sunday-school children at their annual treat, but Dennison played the kind of music which made Collier, Ward and me, who were not exactly musical, feel that we could sing quite well. At Cliborough I had established a record by being the first boy who had tried to get into the school choir and failed, but the man who made me sing "Ah, ah, ah," until I really could not go on any longer had told me that I should have a voice some day. Perhaps he said that out of kindness, but when Dennison played I always remembered it, and forgot that when I sang in church people sitting in front of me had been known to look round as if hymns were not made to be sung.
If discussion beforehand helps to make an entertainment successful our freshers' wine ought to have been a colossal success. For days the thing seemed to pervade the air and I got horribly tired of it, though Collier, who had been given rooms which compared with mine were palatial, had more reason to be sick than I had. Collier had not only a certain amount of space at his disposal but also a piano, and if either of us had been any use at guessing we might have known that his rooms would have been chosen. I may as well say now that if any one of the freshers who had been invited had also possessed a little sense Collier's rooms would not have been chosen, but the last thing we thought of was a row, until we got into one, which is one of the advantages of being a fresher.
Dennison and Ward finally asked about fifteen men to the wine, and on the appointed night we met in Collier's rooms. It was perhaps not so great a privilege to receive an invitation as we thought it was, because each man who accepted had to pay more than the thing was worth. However, there was no doubt that it was well done, Ward had been to Spinney's shop in the Turl and had benefited by Spinney's experience, and Dennison with the assistance of Collier's scout, and in spite of Collier's mild protests, had prepared the rooms in a way which made me wonder where the owner of them was going to sleep.
There was a tradition at St. Cuthbert's, and a tradition seems to me a very dangerous possession unless carefully watched, that no wine was complete without a large bowl of milk punch. Ward had been told this by Spinney, who took what he called a fatherly interest in St. Cuthbert's, though it must be an exorbitant kind of interest which makes a man recommend a lot of freshers, or anybody else, to mix punch with champagne and port. Spinney had also provided a terrific amount of fruit and other things, and if Collier's room had only been big enough to provide space for all of us and for what we were expected to eat and drink, I think our wine at the start would have been a most imposing display. As it was everybody thought it had been done well except Collier, who told me to look in his bedroom. I looked without seeing the bed, which was so piled up with superfluities that they nearly touched the ceiling.
"When this orgie is over," Collier said, "every one will have forgotten that I have to go to bed to-night."
"I will stay and help you," I answered, for I was in the mood when anything seems to be possible.
We went back into the "sitter," where everybody was already beginning to eat and, I suppose, to enjoy themselves. There were not enough chairs to go round, but there is always the floor, and a man who won't sit on the floor when there is nothing else to sit upon is no use at an Oxford wine. Some men even prefer the floor, but that usually happens later on in the evening. Ward began the musical part of the entertainment by singing "John Peel," his voice was admirable, because it was loud without being very good, and nobody had the discomfort of wondering whether they could sing well enough to join in the chorus. I like a place where you can fairly bellow without hearing your own voice. A man called Webb, who had a mole on his forehead and had been at Cliborough with me, sang the next song, but it was a sentimental thing, and had a chorus with some high notes in it, an unsuitable choice which fell flat, and when it was over Webb sat down by me in disgust, and helped himself lavishly to punch by way of consolation. I told Webb that he had taken Lambert's seat, because Lambert for some other reason had also been helping himself lavishly to punch, and had become argumentative and almost quarrelsome. Webb, however, said that he was not going to move, and when Lambert returned Dennison had to play the piano very lustily to drown the discussion which took place. Lambert was six feet two and angry, Webb was the same height and obstinate, both of them had been drinking punch, and if Ward had not intervened by asking Lambert to sing, I believe an unexpected item would have formed part of our programme. Lambert sang, or rather tried to sing, and broke down several times; no one minded and he received tremendous encouragement to go on, but he fancied himself as a singer and at last became very indignant and abusive. He was then given champagne to soothe him, and sat on the floor with a very sad expression, and his legs stretched out in front of him. Collier threw a fig at him which he caught and threw back, hitting another man on the cheek, figs began to fly about the room until Ward begged everybody not to make a horrible rag before we had properly begun. Collier went round on his hands and knees collecting figs and calling himself a fool for spoiling his own carpet. Most people gave him a shove with their feet when he came near them, which sent him on to his back and prevented his collection from being a good one.
Then Dennison began to play "The Gondoliers," which was the popular comic opera of the day. Solos were dispensed with, and each chorus was sung many times. The wine was evidently a huge success, the noise was magnificent, and everybody was reasonably peaceful. No one noticed that Lambert and Webb were now sitting side by side on the floor, swearing eternal friendship and requiring champagne in which to pledge each other, until Webb got hold of the idea that he was Leander trying to swim the Hellespont, and Collier poured a jug of water over his head so that he might make the scene more realistic.
One or two men went quietly away, saying that it was getting late. The music stopped for a moment, while Dennison walked about the room seeking refreshment and finding very little. The noise subsided so much that a knock was heard, and a scout poked his head into the room and spoke to Dennison who was standing by the door. Every one asked what he wanted, and Dennison assured us that it did not matter, which we were all inclined to believe with the exception of Ward, who went to the piano and began the National Anthem. It was the only tune he could play, and he had to take infinite pains to get the right notes, so he was forcibly removed, and Dennison installed in his place. "The Gondoliers" and the noise began again, while Ward, protesting that it was time we went away, was disregarded entirely. From sheer distaste for punch and only a very limited taste for wine I had not been seeking my enjoyment in drinking, but I had smoked far more than was good for me, and my head felt as large as a pumpkin. It occurred to me, however, that if Ward wished our entertainment to close he was sure to be right, so I pulled over Dennison backwards from the piano. That caused a very fair hubbub and did not do much good, since everybody began to sing what they liked, without music.
Ward went round persuading men to go, until Lambert, Webb, Collier, Ward, Dennison and I were the only ones remaining. Collier was heavy with sleep, but Lambert and Webb, who still sat on the floor with their backs propped up against a sofa, were full of song. Dennison sulked in a corner; he told me afterwards that I had hurt his head. Ward and I by violent efforts got Lambert and Webb upon their legs and propped them up against each other. They stood singing, "For he's a jolly good fellow," and looking extraordinarily foolish. At last we got them to the door and shoved them out, but unfortunately the Sub-Warden, who had a habit of being in the wrong place, was standing outside the room, and Lambert, who most certainly looked upon him as an old friend, put an arm round him, and hurried him at break-neck speed down the stairs. Webb followed, and when I got into the quadrangle he was on one side of the Subby and Lambert on the other.
They were persuading him to dance. I tried to seize Lambert, while Ward went for Webb; but as I did so they suddenly released their man, and instead of grabbing Lambert I got my arm entangled in the Subby's. I let it go quickly, but he recognized me, and said something about a disgraceful occurrence. It would have been giving Lambert and Webb away to tell him that I was acting the part of rescuer, so I stood looking at him, while Ward drove the other two men out of the quadrangle. As he did not say anything I expressed a hope that he was not hurt, but it was more from a wish to prove myself sober than from any anxiety as to his condition that I made the remark. I thought he understood this, for he neither answered nor wished me good-night when he went back to his staircase. I was afraid he had been considerably jolted and was not quite himself. I turned round after watching him out of sight, and found Murray standing by my side.
"You had better come to bed," he said, and his tone suggested that I was incapable of looking after myself, so I told him that I was as sober as a judge.
"I waited up for you," he said.
"To see if you could be of any use, I suppose," I asked ungraciously.
"And when Lambert and Webb began to shout the back quad down, I came out to see what had happened. What were you talking to the Subby about?"
"Our arms got interlocked," I replied, as we walked over to our staircase. "The fact is the Subby ought to go to bed in decent time."
"He could hardly be expected to sleep with a wine going on in the rooms below him."
"I forgot all about that."
"And so apparently did everybody else who was there, though I should have thought the scout would have warned Collier."
"Dennison managed the whole thing, I said, and you can thank your stars you can go to bed without the prospect of a row and a thundering headache."
Then I went into my room and sported my oak, for the rumblings of Lambert and Webb could still be heard in the quadrangle.