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 bumped 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 bumped 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 bumped. I know that if I had ever been in a boat which had been bumped, and the only reason why I have not been is because I have never rowed in a bumping race, I should want to hit somebody over the head with my oar or denounce the cox. Coxes, 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 cox 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 bumped, I think he ought to be far more sorry for the cox, 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 cox 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 coxes, 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. buttons; 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 Bumble-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 Bumble-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 assured 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 passed 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 Saturday, and on Saturday 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 bumped and Oriel nearly last on the river. I understood from Godfrey 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 bumping races," I answered.
Nina sniffed very audibly, but Mrs. Faulkner hastened to the rescue.
"I think Godfrey 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, Godfrey; 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. When I like anybody I want to tell them so, but once when I saw a splendid sunset in Bavaria and said, "How simply ripping," my father told me not to make a fool of myself, and somehow or other I felt that he was right. So I was very glad that I had to show Nina the beauties of St. Cuthbert's while it was her duty to admire them. She had never been inside an Oxford quadrangle before, and though I think any one with two eyes and a grain of common-sense would say that Oxford is beautiful, I must admit that Nina saw St. Cuthbert's for the first time under the most favourable circumstances possible. She looked at the old walls and the flower-boxes which were outside nearly all the windows, and did not talk any nonsense about them; even the creepers seemed to be greener than usual in the sunlight of the afternoon. In the chapel somebody was playing the organ, which may have been a meretricious effect, but it pleased Nina, and that was all I cared about. The whole college was most wonderfully peaceful, no one could imagine that the quadrangle had ever been made hideous by Bacchanalian yells. And I felt proud of it, which was quite a new sensation to me, and I suppose it was Nina's delight that made me see things differently. I took her to my rooms, which seemed to be small and gloomy enough after the hall and the quadrangle, but she said that they were far more comfortable than she had expected them to be, and she sat down in the most comfortable of my easy-chairs and looked as if she intended to stop for ever. I suggested to her that we should go down to the river and see Oriel struggling in the second division, but she decided that one dose of racing would be enough for her, and said that Fred could take Mrs. Faulkner to the river if she wanted to go. She had not been so fond of my society for a long time, and for quite ten minutes, with the aid of cherries, we got on splendidly together. Then the conversation languished and I began to show her things which she did not want to see; it is so very hard to please anybody who does not pretend to like things which they do not like. Nina began to hum at last, and if there is one noise which I detest it is humming. To make matters worse her tune was one I especially disliked, but as I was her host I made a gallant attempt not to listen to it. So I whistled, and I expect we had nearly reached a crisis when Mrs. Faulkner and Fred appeared. I was very fond indeed of Nina, and I am sure that she would have been indignant if any one had told her that she was not fond of me, but when we had not seen each other for some time and were left alone together we often irritated each other. It was a terrible nuisance, but it is no use denying that I was glad to see Mrs. Faulkner again, and if any one had told me that such a thing was possible when I left her at the lodge I should have denounced him with many words. I could see that Fred had not been enjoying himself, and while Mrs. Faulkner and Nina were discussing loudly what they should do next, he told me that he had been asked a perfect fusillade of questions none of which he could answer. "How old is that fig-tree in your garden?" he asked thoughtlessly, and Mrs. Faulkner's attention was turned upon me.
"What fig-tree?" I asked.
Fred tittered audibly, and Mrs. Faulkner seemed to forget that only a short time before she had discovered an immense improvement in me.
"Do you mean to say that you live close to that beautiful fig-tree and don't even know of its existence?" she demanded.
"Oh yes, I know about it," I answered; "it has stuff put round to keep it warm in the winter, but I have never asked how old it is. You see the dons more or less monopolize our gardens, so you can't expect us to know much about them."
"Notices are put up to say that certain parts of them are reserved for the dons of the college, aren't they?" Foster said, and he laughed again, but I said nothing. "I shall tell Nina the tale if you don't," he added.
"I should like to hear something amusing," Nina said, as if there was not the slightest chance of her wish being gratified.
"It's not very funny," I began, for I had a feeling that Mrs. Faulkner would not like this tale.
"Well, anything's better than nothing," Nina declared wisely, and so, to pacify her, I continued.
"These notices annoyed some men, so they dug a hole and bought a large sort of milk-pail arrangement to fit into it and a box of sardines. Then we filled the pail with water and put in the sardines, and Jack Ward put up a little notice, 'This fishing is reserved for the dons of the college. Licences may be obtained at the lodge.' The dons should not be so greedy about the garden," I added, because Mrs. Faulkner looked very disgusted.
"Did you really make a large hole in that beautiful turf?" she asked at once. "You began in the third person, but I expect you and this Mr. Ward did it; you ought to have been rusticated, or whatever the word is."
"We were never found out, and the dons didn't mind; they thought it not a bad joke of its kind," I answered.
"Then their sense of humour must have become perverted," she replied. "I think Mr. Ward must have a very bad influence over you."
Nina laughed and said she insisted upon meeting Jack.
"I sincerely hope you won't do anything of the kind," Mrs. Faulkner stated. "The dons must know what is best for the undergraduates, and such tricks are very unbecoming; I am sure my husband always admitted this when he was at Cambridge."
It was hardly fair to pull in Mr. Faulkner, so I said that I would get some tea, which put an end to the discussion, for I did not think it wise to say that I had asked Jack to meet Nina at luncheon on the following day. By the time we had finished tea Fred was tired of Mrs. Faulkner, and he slipped off with Nina in a way which was really too clever to be very nice. Mrs. Faulkner, however, was quite amiable, and she smiled on me steadily from the beginning of the Broad Walk to the end of it, which as a feat of endurance I feel it my duty to mention.
When we got down to the river the band was playing on the 'Varsity barge, and Mrs. Faulkner really began to enjoy herself. The flags flying from all the barges pleased her, and the smartness of the ladies made her compare the scene to church parade on a June morning in Hyde Park. I knew nothing about church parades and very little about Hyde Park, but I said that I thought this must beat anything in London. Then I got a chair for her and looked round to find Nina and Fred, but as I could not see them anywhere, I said that I must go and hunt for them. Mrs. Faulkner, however, had no intention of letting me go, and I had to be a kind of Baedeker for over half-an-hour. I was not a very good Baedeker, I confess, but I had found out that one way to make things uncomfortable with this lady was not to answer every question she asked, so I supplied her with a good deal of information which I sincerely hope she never passed on to any one else. Unfortunately our barge is near the 'Varsity's, and during the races a string of little flags fly from the 'Varsity barge to show the order of the colleges on the river. I knew them well enough down to ours, and I even knew the ninth and tenth, but when Mrs. Faulkner wanted to know the whole lot, I had to use my imagination. I know that I said Hertford twice and I finished up with All Souls, who only have about three undergraduates, so if they had rowed at all they would have been several men short.
"I should like to write the colleges down if I had a pencil," she said; "you rattle them off so fast. Didn't you say that one flag belonged to the University, but the University flag is surely dark blue?"
And then I had to explain that University was a college and not the whole place, and she replied that she knew so much more about Cambridge than Oxford, and complained that our colleges had very confusing names. "Oriel!" she said scornfully, "it reminds me of a window, and then you have no originality. Exeter, Worcester, Lincoln, why they are just names of towns, you can find them all in Bradshaw."
"Well, at any rate Bradshaw's got nothing to do with it," I replied. "These colleges are hundreds of years old, and Bradshaw's a chicken compared with them."
"What dreadful slang. Fancy calling Bradshaw a chicken!" she exclaimed. "Besides, you have a college called Keble, and my father knew Dr. Keble, so that can't be hundreds of years old. No, Cambridge have chosen their names better than Oxford."
"Sidney Sussex," I said, for I thought it necessary to make some reply; "it's more like the name of one of Ouida's heroes than a college."
She shook her head gently. "I can't get over your colleges sounding like railway-stations," she answered.
"You must blame the bishops who founded them and not Bradshaw or me," I replied, for I was getting very tired.
"Some one told me Keble is built of red-brick," she said.
"Red-brick is so bright," I answered, but I wanted to say something quite different, and at last a dim noise which quickly developed into a tremendous roar told us that the boats were coming.
Brasenose paddled home first, and not one of the next six boats were in any danger of being caught. It was reserved for us and Merton to give the people on the barges some excitement, but when I saw Merton pressing us fearfully I wished that I was not hemmed in by a crowd of ladies. I yelled tremendously because I could not help myself, and Mrs. Faulkner, after saying something which I did not catch, put her hands over her ears. But shouting was useless. The abominable thing happened right in front of our barge, and when I saw our cox's hand go up to show that all was over, it was a very bad moment indeed.
"Poor St. Cuthbert's, how very unfortunate they are," I heard a girl say; and some one else answered, "Yes, it's quite pathetic, so different from what one used to expect from them, but I am told that they are not the college they were." That remark made me feel furious, and it was not until Mrs. Faulkner pulled my coat violently that I remembered that she was sitting close to me.
"Did you make a bump?" I heard her asking me.
"No, Merton bumped us. We shall soon be sandwich boat," I answered, for I spoke without thinking.
"Sandwich boat, my dear Godfrey, is this a picnic?" she returned, and I did not know whether she was serious or only trying to be funny.
"There's not much picnic about it," I replied; "we've gone down four places in four nights."
"But what is a sandwich boat. They don't have such things at Cambridge."
"They do, at any rate my cousin rowed eight times in four nights and nearly died after it. A sandwich boat is bottom of one division and top of the other, so it has got to row in both; it's got nothing to do with ham. Shall we go?"
Every one was leaving the barges, but Mrs. Faulkner remained in her chair.
"Isn't that girl in mauve a perfect dream?" she said to me, but I pretended not to hear. I had to wait for several minutes while dresses and the people who wore them were criticized, and I am sure that nothing but the National Anthem or force could have stirred Mrs. Faulkner from her seat.
We found Nina and Fred waiting for us, and Nina said she had been having a splendid time on the Oriel barge. But I could think of nothing except that we were not the college we used to be, and I left Fred to talk to both Mrs. Faulkner and Nina.