CHAPTER XXI
ONE WORD TOO MANY
The collapse of the Hedonists placed me in a very curious position, for by some freak of fortune an idea spread through the 'Varsity that I had been responsible for it, and whenever I went to Vincent's I was always button-holed by men who asked me to tell them what had happened. It was almost as bad as Nina falling into the "Cher," for a tale thirty times told is as flavourless as sauce kept in an uncorked bottle. I could not say that Murray was the man to explain the whole thing, for he was most extraordinarily anxious that his name should not be mentioned. I thought that he carried discretion beyond the bounds of decency, but Jack said that if it had not been for him we should never have made a fool of Dennison, and this was so far true that I stopped myself from making one or two forcible remarks. The immediate result of our procession was that a great many people seemed to be incoherently angry. I had interviews with both the Warden and the Subby, and I am sorry to say that our porter had told them that I had hit him in the ribs. I had done nothing of the kind, but it was necessary that he should be taken for a short walk, and I did put my arm through his and keep myself between him and the donkey until it was safely in the quad. I am sure that the Warden understood that I would not hit any one in the ribs, and I think his annoyance was due chiefly to the fact that some one had told a reporter a lot of things which were not true, and there were accounts of the Hedonists in some of the London papers. But the fact of a donkey being in our quad had got on the Subby's nerves, and he gated me for a month without listening to what I had to say. He also told me that I ought to consider myself very lucky not to be sent down for the term. Several other men, including Dennison, were gated for a fortnight, and I had great difficulty in keeping Jack from going to the Subby, to ask him if he would not do something to him. It was very silly of Jack to think of pushing himself into this row, but instead of thanking his stars that he had not been seen, he was furious with me when I told him to keep away from the Subby; and a lot of other men in St. Cuthbert's who would have been glad to help in squashing Dennison, were angry because they had never been told of our plans.
Collier, who had not been gated, told me by way of comfort that virtue is its own reward, but if this is true, I really think that virtue is badly handicapped, and that those who practise it should get something more substantial to satisfy them. I began to think that if ever there was another attempt to do anything for the college I should be too busy to take any part in it. There was, however, one thing which cheered me during these days of bad temper, and that was a report that Dennison and Lambert were vowing vengeance upon me. I hoped most sincerely that they would try to do something, for I should have received them with pleasure. But their threats never came to anything, for as the days passed by and every one knew how completely they had been scored off, their desire for revenge seemed to wane. Ridicule smothered them, and try as they would to live it down, their influence, as far as the college was concerned, disappeared entirely. Some of the set pulled themselves up and became more or less silent, while others continued to shriek at night, and to go to the theatre for the purpose of making a row, which seems to me to be nearly the end of all things.
In a week the Hedonists were almost forgotten, and when the storm had blown over, Murray was not so anxious that I should have all the credit of having caused it. But by that time no one cared to know who had thought of preparing Thornton for the dinner, and Murray treated me as if I had robbed him of something. I think he must have been working too hard, or suffering from some secret illness, for I had already told a hundred men that it was not in me to make a plot of any kind, and that if I had been responsible for this one it would never have been successful. Murray's indignation came too late to have any effect, and as I thought he was quite unreasonable I made no attempt to pacify him.
After things had settled down again no one could help seeing that the fall of Dennison and his friends had done no end of good to the college. The men who can be only described as absolute slackers do not often get the chance of having any influence in a college, but for some reason or other Dennison had become the fashion among a certain set in St. Cuthbert's, and if we were ever to do anything properly again it was time for the fashion to change. There are many ways of making yourself conspicuous in Oxford, and Dennison chose the one which the majority of men never have been able to put up with. I think St. Cuthbert's during my first two years had most unusually bad luck; we were suffering, like the agricultural interest, from years of depression, and we tobogganed down the hill instead of trying to pull ourselves to the top of it again. I suppose other colleges have their troubles, but while I was at Oxford no college had such a desperate struggle as St. Cuthbert's.
My interviews with The Bradder during the first two or three weeks of this term were most strictly business-like. I was afraid that he would speak to me of the Hedonists, and as I had no intention of saying a word to him about them I never stayed with him longer than I could possibly help. Dons, however, find out things without asking undergraduates, and the man who imagines that they are not troubling themselves about him is in danger of having rather a rude awakening, if he happens to be doing things which do not please them. Our dons must have known all about Dennison, and I believe they fixed their eyes most steadfastly upon him. At any rate, his father, who was a barrister, must have heard something, because he paid a surprise visit to Oxford. There is something horribly mean about surprise visits, whatever information may be got from them, and for the first time in my life I felt a little sympathy for Dennison.
Whether his father thought this visit successful or not I do not know, but he certainly found out a lot in a short time and came to a very definite decision. He called on Dennison at ten o'clock and found him sleeping, he called again at twelve o'clock with the same result; at one o'clock he discovered him sitting at breakfast in his dressing-gown. Lambert was unfortunate enough to hear some of the interview which followed, and he said that Dennison's defence was very clever, but that he broke down under cross-examination.
"I have never seen such a man as old Dennison," I heard Lambert telling some one in the common-room; "he looked like a piece of marble, and when I went in and wanted to bolt he treated me as if I was an office-boy, and said that as he believed I was a particular friend of his son's it would do me good to stay. The worst of it was that Dennison wasn't very well, and was having a pick-me-up with his brekker. He wasn't in bed until four this morning, so it's no wonder he didn't look very fit."
On the following afternoon Dennison left Oxford; he was not sent down by the dons, but had to go for the simple reason that his father said he would not let him stay any longer. His friends took him down to the station, and there was a procession of cabs and a noise, but I am sure that there was a feeling of relief in the college when he had gone. Jack and I told each other that we were sorry that his end had come so suddenly, although if any one had asked me what I meant, I am sure that I could not have given any explanation. It is not very hard to guess what would have happened to him if his father had not acted as he did, and if you have to leave Oxford abruptly I should think the best way is to be hurried off by your people; it must save so many explanations when you get home.
What happened to Dennison I cannot say; somebody said that he was going round the world or on to the Stock Exchange, but Lambert denied both these reports, and declared that he had reformed so violently that he had become a teetotaler and intended to wear a blue riband in his button-hole. I doubted the blue riband part of the story, and if Dennison ever wore one I think it would only be on Boat-race day, for it takes a tremendous lot of courage to wear a badge of any kind.
After Dennison had disappeared, Jack and I saw The Bradder nearly every day. His keenness on the college increased instead of wearing off with time, and he seemed to be exactly the right kind of man to be a don. His energy was really terrific, and I received more goads than I could endure conveniently, so I passed some of them on to Jack and chose those which I liked the least, not, I am afraid, the ones which Jack might be inclined to receive with patience.
The Bradder persuaded me to join both a Shakespearian and a Browning Society, and as I could not plunge into such things by myself I dragged Jack with me. The Shakespearian Society was pleasant enough, but after two meetings of the Browningites Jack said flatly that he would not go again. Some of the Browning men objected to the windows being opened, and it is very difficult to keep awake in a stuffy room when you have been taking hard exercise in the afternoon. Jack, at any rate, snored so loudly at the second meeting that he shocked the President, and when he woke up he interrupted a discussion by giving a very fluent lecture on the advantages of ventilation. I expect that he would have been turned out of the society if he had not resigned, and I ought not to have dragged him into it, for he was so violently bored by the whole thing that he declared he must have a little pleasure to make him forget all about it.
"Something in the open air," he said to me, when he came to my rooms on the morning after he had snored, and he looked at a volume of Stubbs' Constitutional History as if he was very tired of it. I was also feeling rather dull, for I had already got through a fortnight of my gating, and to be kept in college after nine o'clock night after night is not very exciting.
"A little change is what we want," Jack went on, as I said nothing.
"I can't do much," I answered; "I'm gated and you have got to row."
"I've got a day off to-morrow; the stroke of my boat has to go to town and bow's ill."
"Why not have a day's hunting?" I asked.
"There is a little race-meeting down below Reading; you pulled me into that Browning thing and it is only fair for you to come to this."
"But I shan't be back in time."
"It's only about twenty miles beyond Reading, and there's no footer match, because I've looked to see. Let's get Bunny Langham and have a rest, it will do us all no end of good. Bunny is going in for politics—his father was President of the Union, and he has got to be, if he can. I should think that there are more Presidents of things in Oxford than any other place in the world, unless it's Cambridge; but Bunny will stick some of his own poetry into his speeches, and the men at the Union don't like it. You can tell him that if ever he expects to be President he must stop that game, he takes no notice of what I say about poetry. You'll come?"
We looked up trains and found out that we could be back by half-past six, so I said that I would go, and Jack went off to see Bunny Langham. As far as racing was concerned the Horndeane meeting was not very interesting, for there was not a close finish in any race which I saw, but if any one has a fancy for picking up very inexpensive horses I should advise them never to miss Horndeane.
I was strolling about with Bunny and Jack after one race, and saw the winner of it brought out for sale. It fetched a hundred and sixty guineas, and Jack said it was "dirt cheap." Then another horse was put up, and I was surprised to hear some one bid ten guineas. Such an offer seemed to me ridiculous for a race-horse, so without thinking, and just to help things on a bit, I said "eleven," and strolled on with Jack; but before we had gone far some one was asking my name, and another man was asking me what I wished him to do with the horse. So many questions bothered me, and I tried to explain that I had made a mistake when I had said "eleven," but it seemed as if such mistakes did not count for much.
"The horse is yours," one man said.
"And he's got the temper of a fiend," the other man added, "and I should like you to find some one to take him at once."
I was quite prepared to give him away if I could find any one foolish enough to have him, but Bunny wouldn't hear of it, and declared we would take him back to Oxford with us. "He may be a gold mine, who knows?" he said.
Jack laughed so much, that while I was surrounded by a lot of impatient people he was unable to help me at all, and I can tell those who have never had to suffer as I did, that to become an owner of a race-horse suddenly is a very awkward experience.
My brute was called "Thunderer," and the man who had got hold of him said that his name was the only good thing about him, for he roared like the sea. I wished heartily that some one would steal my horse, but every one seemed to be most distressingly anxious to keep as far away from him as possible.
I suppose Bunny knew all about racers, for in a few minutes he had arranged for a horse-box to be put on our train, and Thunderer disappeared. I seemed to spend the remainder of the afternoon in being asked for money by people who said they had done or were going to do something for me. I found that my exalted position brought many burdens with it, and I was very glad when we left the race-course. Unfortunately, however, we trusted to Bunny's watch, and when we got to the station, which was on a little branch line, our train to Reading had gone. There had been some bother about the horse-box, and the station-master and a number of people who took an unabating interest in me were quarrelling when we arrived. I sat down on a bench and left Bunny to talk to them; I have never been so tired of anything in my life.
Even if the next train was punctual we had to wait for an hour, and by no chance could we reach Oxford before half-past seven. We should have been annoyed in any case, but Jack and I were very irritated because the Mohocks were meeting that evening, and we had men dining with us. The only thing to do was to telegraph and ask some one to look after our guests until we came, but the station had no telegraph-office, and if we wanted to send a telegram we had to go down to the village.
A porter assured us that we could get to the post-office in ten minutes, and that the road was quite straight. I don't know what he was thinking about, possibly of a bicycle and daylight, for the way to the village needed a lot of finding, and it took us quite half-an-hour to reach the post-office. By that time a thick fog had risen. We tried, and failed, to get any kind of vehicle to take us back to the station, so we started to run and lost our way. The natural result was that we missed another train, and the stationmaster, who must have had an especial dislike for me, had not sent on the horse-box, and was more angry than ever. Of all the obstinate people in the world I think a station-master at a small station can be easily first, and our efforts to soothe him produced no effect whatever. Everything he said began with "I know my business," and I have always been inclined to doubt people who try to crush me with such unnecessary information.
We got away eventually, but my misfortunes were not finished. Our train was very late at Reading and there was no longer any chance for me to be in college by nine o'clock. Jack, too, was bothered about the men whom he had asked to dinner, and Bunny alone remained in a state of unruffled contentment.
When the train came at last I got into a carriage with only a glance at the people in it, and tried to go to sleep, but Bunny kept on talking about Thunderer and had magnificent schemes for my future benefit. I regret to say that he was in what must have been a sportive mood, and asked me to choose my racing colours and my trainer. He kept up a long series of questions which I did not answer, but which prevented me from going to sleep. I opened my eyes reluctantly and saw Jack slumbering in a corner, but when I looked at the man opposite to me I became most thoroughly awake. This man, as far as I remember anything about him when I got into the carriage, had his head buried in a newspaper; now he was revealed as Mr. Edwardes, and having wished me "good-evening," he added—quite superfluously—that he was surprised to see me.
Bunny with more curiosity than good manners put on his glasses to look at Mr. Edwardes, and I, having to say something, thought that I might as well introduce them to each other, though I took care to mumble Bunny's name so that it could not be heard. Mr. Edwardes bowed and opened his paper again, but Bunny having arrived at the fact that I was face to face with a don of some kind, thought he would try to pass the time pleasantly. Considering what he had already said about race-horses nothing could have been more fatuous than his attempts to explain why I was not in Oxford. He began by talking about British industries, and in a minute was saying that he thought a visit to Huntley and Palmer's biscuit manufactory was well worth a visit to Reading. I kicked and nudged him incessantly, for the snubs which he received from Mr. Edwardes only seemed to encourage him.
The distance between Reading and Oxford is happily not great, but by the time we had finished our journey I was in a state of profound discomfort, and though I had no love for Mr. Edwardes, I thought that Bunny might have had the sense to know that if he was amusing himself he was making things more difficult for me. His explanation was that a man who looked like a frozen image was just as likely to believe that I had been inspecting Huntley and Palmer's manufactory as buying a race-horse, and at any rate it was a good thing to try and mix him up a little, but I can't say that I thought the explanation a good one.
When we got to Oxford a man from a livery-stable was waiting for Thunderer, and Jack and I reached St. Cuthbert's just as the Mohocks were coming back to college after playing pool. It was half-past ten before I could explain things to the men whom I had asked to dine with me, and when they heard that I had been buying a race-horse they thought that my excuses were good enough.
The Bradder was dining with the Mohocks that evening, and when the out-college men had gone away he asked me to come to his rooms and have a smoke. I looked at Jack, and The Bradder said at once, "Ask Ward to come with you," and walked off across the quad.
We told him exactly what we had been doing, and I think Mr. Edwardes would have been rather surprised to see how he laughed.
"What would Colonel Marten say if he knew you had bought a race-horse?" he asked me.
"I hope to goodness he never will know," I answered.
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Sell him—if I can; Langham's got him in the stables where he keeps his horses, and if you would like to have a look at him, I'll take you round."
But The Bradder shook his head.
"You say Mr. Edwardes saw you at Reading, and that you are gated, and were not in college until ten o'clock. I wish you would not do such stupid things," he said quite seriously.
"It was the reaction," I replied.
"From what?"
"Browning," I said, and The Bradder did not look altogether pleased.
"I am sorry you can't appreciate Browning."
"I can't appreciate very many things at once. Besides, Jack and I felt very dull."
"Mr. Edwardes saw you, I suppose?" he asked Jack.
"I should think so, but I don't think he knows me by sight."
"Oh yes, he does," The Bradder said. "Both of you are bound to hear more about this."
"It's very unfortunate," Jack remarked; "you see there was a fog, and all sorts of unexpected things happened. It has been a real bad day," he added, as we left the room.
On the following morning directly after breakfast Jack and I went round to see Bunny, and we found him talking to a man who looked like a groom from his head to his heels. I groaned.
"Sit down, Sam," Bunny said. "That's Mr. Marten, the owner of the horse you are talking about."
"Well, all I can say is what the Guv'nor told me to say. I was to say this 'oss must leave our place this morning or there'll be trouble."
"There seems to have been trouble already," Bunny replied.
"'E's done enough damage for twenty 'osses. Kick, you should see 'im; 'e's kicked a loose box silly. Our Guv'nor's fairly got 'is rag out."
"He must wait until I've finished breakfast. You'd better have a cigarette, Sam."
"No, thank you," Sam answered, and looked at a cigar-box.
"Help yourself," Bunny said.
Sam helped himself and remarked that he had been up since five o'clock with that blessed 'oss, and that it was thirsty work. So he helped himself again. After that he did not seem to mind so much what the Guv'nor said, and told Bunny that he had never met a nobleman who didn't know how to treat people properly.
We talked to Sam for some time, and just as Bunny was finishing breakfast another man came into the room.
"I had forgotten all about you," Bunny said. "I'm afraid this place is rather full of smoke," and he introduced his cousin, Mr. Eric Bruce.
"I can't congratulate you on your memory," Bruce replied; "you forgot I was going to stay with you last night, and you forget I want any breakfast. Funny chap, Augustus, isn't he?" he said to me.
"Your wire never came until I had gone yesterday, so I couldn't forget you were coming," Bunny said, and rang the bell.
"I'll tell the Guv'nor you'll be round in 'alf a jiffy," Sam said, and went out of the room jerkily, as if he had got a stiff leg.
"What curious friends you have, Augustus, and what is ''alf a jiffy'?" Bruce asked.
"Don't be a fool," Bunny answered, "and don't call me Augustus."
"It's better than Gussy," Bruce declared, and though I should have been glad to contradict him, for I disliked him at sight, there is no doubt that he was right.
"Is the man, who has gone, an elderly undergraduate or only a don?" Bruce went on.
"He's from some stables round the corner. Any one with two eyes could see that."
"Rude as usual; my cousin's the oddest man," Bruce said to Jack.
"Like to buy a horse?" Bunny asked him.
"I'm ready to buy anything if I can sell it at a profit," he answered.
"Well, swallow your breakfast and come and have a look. You'll get your profit all right. I've never known you when you didn't."
In a few minutes we all went to the stables, and Bunny began haggling operations. Bruce bid a "fiver" for Thunderer, and was told he would fetch that for cats' meat, and then the game went on. In the end Bruce said he would give fifteen guineas, and take him to London that day. I nearly seized him by the hand, and told him he was a rare good sort, which I was quite convinced he was not. The livery-stable man did not seem to care what happened as long as Thunderer went away, and I must say that he made the least of his eccentricities.
"That's a bit of luck," Bunny said to me when the bargain was settled, "I get rid of my cousin and a horse on the same day, both real bad lots. He's our family pestilence," and he nodded at Bruce's back.
For Jack's benefit I added up the result of my investment, and came to the conclusion that I was about eighteen-pence to the bad when I had paid for the damage Thunderer had done, and all the little incidental expenses connected with him. You can't own a race-horse for nothing, and I think that I—or rather Bunny—did well. I was told afterwards that Bruce raffled my horse and sold fifty tickets for a sovereign each, but I am not inclined to believe that story, and at any rate I should not have known where to find fifty fools. I certainly could not have discovered them in Oxford, where some people, who have never been there, make the mistake of thinking they are to be found in crowds.
I believe the dons held a meeting about Jack and me, for The Bradder told us there was a great difference of opinion about the sort of men we were. I tried to get more out of him, but failed. However, we got off lightly, for Jack was only gated for a week, while I was given a lecture by the Subby, and had a week added to my term of imprisonment.
The Bradder also advised me to give up going to race-meetings.