CHAPTER XXII
A TUTORSHIP
I was beginning to forget that I had ever been the owner of a race-horse when I got a furious letter from my father. The Warden had told my uncle, and my uncle lost his head and wrote to my people instead of to me. A tale of this kind always flies round at a tremendous pace, and it was difficult to make every one believe that I had never meant to buy the horse, and that as soon as I had bought him my one desire was to get rid of him. I found out afterwards that the Warden only told my uncle because he thought the tale would amuse him, but apparently he expressed himself in such very curious language that he gave the impression of being annoyed. After I had soothed my people the Bishop wrote to me that the turf had been the ruin of many young men, but when I thought of the part I had played upon it I came to the conclusion that I was not likely to be added to the number. My uncle referred to racing as "a fascinating and very expensive pleasure," and I assured him that I had not found it fascinating, and that my experience had cost me eighteen-pence, the cheapness of which he had to admit. I am glad that I added up my expenses, for that eighteen-pence was very useful, it was such a delightfully ridiculous sum to brandish at any one who thought that I was trotting down the road to perdition.
During the rest of the term we were very quiet in St. Cuthbert's. I was able to play rugger for the college in nearly every match, for my days in the 'Varsity fifteen had ended. Hogan was better than ever, while I had fallen away to the kind of man who Blackheath ask to play for them when half their team are crocked and the other half have influenza. I did not mind, however, for our college fifteen was only beaten by Trinity and Keble, and our soccer team, chiefly owing to three or four freshers, was also much better than it had been for years.
Things were improving all round, and Jack's energy was almost exhausting to those who watched it. He seemed to me to be hunting for societies to join, and he went round sampling them and finding out that they did not suit him. Bunny Langham succeeded in getting himself elected Secretary of the Union, and he told me that he was going to have several cabinet ministers down to speak in the following term, and should give them a jolly good dinner. He asked Jack and me to meet them, but only one of them came, and he did not dine with Bunny. His father, who was in the Government and held the record for the number of speeches he had made in the House of Lords, came down once and wanted to come again, but he spoke for such a tremendously long time that Bunny declared that he should give up all hopes of being elected President if he ever came again.
In the Lent term Jack rowed six in our Torpid, and also told me that he thought he should try and get his blue for throwing the hammer. He had never thrown the hammer in his life, but he said that he knew what it was like and any one could throw it. I suppose that was true, but Jack, when he tried, found that there were other men who could throw it a greater distance than he could, which did not trouble him in the least. He remarked that the hammer was a silly thing after all, and that he should think of something else.
But the Torpid occupied so much of his time and attention that he gave up seeking for a curious way in which to get his blue, and settled down to train in a most determined manner. The sight of me eating muffins for tea seemed to be almost an insult to him, I really believe that he would have liked me to train with him, though I had nothing whatever to train for. He did persuade me once to run round the Parks before breakfast, but I didn't repeat the experiment, for I felt quite fit without being restless in the early morning. Of course I had the Torpid to breakfast, and their confidence in themselves was as great as their appetites. You can't, I think, give breakfast to a Torpid and like them at the same time, and I have never acted as host to a Torpid or an Eight without being struck by the fact that of all men in the world I was the most supremely unimportant. Occasionally Jack and another man remembered that I was not very interested in the amount of work the Corpus stroke did with his legs, and made as great an effort to drag me into the conversation as I made to keep in it. But the effort was very apparent on both sides, and I gave up when I heard that seven in the Merton boat used his oar like a pump-handle, and that there was not a single man in the Pembroke crew who pulled his own weight. This last statement compelled me to ask if Pembroke hoisted a sail on their boat and waited for a favourable wind, but my question was treated with scorn, and I came to the usual conclusion that the best place to see a Torpid collectively is in a boat.
The confidence of our men depressed me, for I had most conscientiously played the part of host to previous Torpids and Eights, who had been equally confident until the racing began. After that they had either complained of their luck or their cox, and I asked Jack when I got him by himself if he really thought our boat was going up.
"I don't know," he replied, "we plug hard, and thinking you are bound to bump everybody is part of the game. It's no use starting to race with your tail down."
The papers considered that we were bound to rise, but for two years they had been saying that and all we had done was to lose more places. I wished that I could meet some one who was not sure about the success of our boat, and at last I discovered him in Lambert, who said our crew looked like a picnic party, which had gone too far out to sea, and had to plug for all they were worth to get back before night. Then I defended them and felt more happy. The fact was the Torpids were a sort of test case; if we went up I felt we should have fairly turned the corner, but if we went down I was afraid our fit of enthusiasm would cool rapidly. No one who was rowing in them could have been more excited than I was. The Bradder noticed it and complained, but for the moment I was incapable of caring much about things which had happened, and after all there is something to be said for anybody who is really keen on one thing, if he does not make himself a very terrific bore.
On the first night of the races we got a dreadfully bad start, and for two or three minutes we were in danger of being bumped. Then we settled down and began to draw close to Corpus, but our cox was too eager and made unsuccessful shots at them. After the second shot I could not run another yard, so perhaps a little training might have done me good, but we did catch Corpus at the "Cher," and that began a triumphant week. We made seven bumps, and though a lot of men said our crew showed more brute force than science, it must have been nonsense, because we went up from fourteenth to seventh, and when a boat gets fairly high in the First Division there is sure to be some one in it who can row properly. The stroke of the 'Varsity eight told me that the best man in our Torpid was Jack and I believed him very easily.
"He could be made useful in the middle of a boat with a bit of coaching," he said to me.
"You'll be up next year, so look out for him," I answered, and I told him that I thought Jack was a splendid oar, which was no use because he only laughed.
I had become so accustomed to a dismal return to college from both the Eights and Torpids that the change was quite delightful, and on the last day of the races we had a huge "bump" supper in hall. From that supper some of our dons stood aloof and were even said to disapprove of it, but the Warden was present for the greater part of it, and the Bursar and The Bradder entered into the spirit of the thing with a zest which was splendid. There were also two or three more dons, who had been undergrads of St. Cuthbert's, but who now belonged to other colleges, and they seemed to know that there are times when it is well to forget that you are a don. We entertained two members of each of the crews which we had bumped, and I cannot say that any of them seemed to be dispirited by their bad fortune. Indeed, as the evening went on they became exceedingly lively, and some of them were inclined to swear everlasting friendship with any one who liked demonstrations.
After supper we had a lot of speeches, but it was impossible to hear many of them, for everybody wanted to speak and no one to listen. I did hear the opening sentence of one speech, "Gentlemen, I used to be able to row once," but I heard no more, for the next words were drowned in loud cries of "Shame" and "No, no," and the don who wished to tell us his personal reminiscences just stood and smiled at us. He had been in the St. Cuthbert's boat when it had been head of the river and did not mind anything. Before we left the hall there were two men speaking at once at our table, it was a great chance to practise oratory. I have never been at a more convivial supper, and since we had not been given an opportunity of celebrating anything for ages it is no wonder that we made a tremendous noise. Some people may wag their heads at bump suppers and call them silly, or whatever they please, but they have forgotten the joy of living, and find their chief delight in criticizing the pleasures of those who are younger and happier than themselves. I suppose they are useful in their way, but thank goodness their way is not mine. You can't expect an undergraduate to celebrate seven bumps by standing on the top of a mountain and watching a sunrise, or by some equally peaceful enjoyment. He wants noise, and he generally manages to get it. I know that I was very pleased with that evening and felt as if it had been well-spent, but when I tried to describe it to Mrs. Faulkner, she shrugged her shoulders and said that it was most childish, for she couldn't understand that it was very nice to let yourself go a little when there was a good reason for doing it. I believe she was one of those people who are ashamed of ever having been children, and if she lived to be a hundred years old and kept all her faculties she would never understand what a peculiar mixture makes up life at Oxford. I did not tell her about the bonfire which we had in the back quad after supper, because I am sure she would have thought that either I was lying or that most of the men in St. Cuthbert's were a set of lunatics.
Two or three dons, who could appreciate festivities, danced round the bonfire quite happily, and evidently enjoyed themselves. They were very popular; too much so possibly for their own comfort, for one of them who was, except on especial occasions, a most prim and proper person, was seized by a man, who looked upon him as his very dearest friend, and carried round the bonfire at galloping pace. After that the dons disappeared and we had a dance in the hall. I should think the band must have been as keen on exercise as we were, for the music got faster and faster as the evening went on, and it was impossible to keep time, but that did not matter. In our battels at the end of the week we were all charged half-a-crown for refreshing the band, so that they could not have gone away hungry—or thirsty.
An outburst of this kind is something more than a custom honoured by time, for it clears the air and you can settle down afterwards quite easily. I had smuggled myself into the festivities which other colleges had given, but I had never enjoyed myself half as much as I did at our own. We had done something at last which was worth a bonfire, and a bonfire with no one to dance round it has never yet been lighted in an Oxford quad.
The Bradder thought that our supper had gone off very well, although he had seen one of his fellow-dons treated too affectionately, and had rescued him. But he knew such things did not really mean anything, for you can't expect men who have just come out of strict training to behave quite like ordinary mortals.
I wanted to fish during the Easter vac, but my vacs were beginning to get out of hand, for make what plans I would—and I made very pleasant ones—somebody was always at work to upset them. I meant to take Fred home with me and play cricket in a net if the weather was warm, and fish a little stream near us, but the Bishop had found something else for me to do, and my schemes came to nothing. At the end of the term I only went home for two days, and then had to start off on a tutorship. It is no use pretending that I went without vigorous protests. I said that I had never tutored anybody in my life, and was met by the answer that everything had to have a beginning, which is such an appalling truism that it ought never to be uttered. I then stated that I was sorry for the boy who had me as a tutor, though I meant, of course, that I was sorry for myself, and my mother replied that she should miss me very much, but that she had talked the whole thing over with my father, and they both thought the experience would be good for me. What could I say to that? Besides, it was too late to back out. The people, I was told, were charming, and I was to take charge of a boy aged twelve, who was home from school because he had been having measles. The boy was also charming, everybody and everything seemed to be exactly right; but I thought I saw the Bishop peeping through all these descriptions, and charming is a word which has no great attractions for me, it is so comprehensive and can mean such a multitude of things.
But as I had to go I went cheerfully, and I should not think that any one ever started on a tutorship knowing less than I did about the people to whom I was going. My whole stock of knowledge consisted of their name, which was Leigh-Tompkinson, of the place where they lived, and of the fact that the boy had been ill. I had, however, no doubt that I should be able to get on with them if they could only put up with me; they were, I was assured, friends of the Bishop, and I did not think that he would urge me to go to any people whom I should not like.
When I arrived at the house I was shown into a drawing-room in which there were at least eight ladies and not a single man. My reception was almost effusive. Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson insisted that I was cold, tired, and dying of hunger, but I had only travelled forty miles, and the day was warm. I wanted nothing except a sight of Mr. Leigh-Tompkinson, and I had an awful feeling that there was not such a man. It struck me suddenly that no one had ever spoken of him to me, and my courage decreased.
"You would like to see Dick," one lady said to me, and everybody asked where he was, and nobody knew or seemed to care very much. The desire for him passed off as quickly as it had come, and in half-an-hour I was playing a four-handed game at billiards with Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson as a partner, and two ladies as our opponents. My partner played better than I did, and we won; we then played two other ladies, and in the middle of the second game Dick came into the room. One glance at him told me that he was all right, and I should have been very glad to go away with him. He remarked to me at once that I was "at it" already, which told me a good deal. No one took any notice of him except to tell him not to fidget, and as he was not fidgeting I thought he was very amiable to receive such unnecessary orders in silence. Before dinner I was able to have a few minutes alone with him, and my fears about Mr. Leigh-Tompkinson were realized—he was dead. We also made some plans for the next day, which were never carried out. In fact, try as I would for many days, and I adopted many artifices, I could hardly ever spend more than an odd half-hour with him, there was always something which his mother thought much more important for me to do. The house was full of people, most of whom were ladies, though none of them were what I called young; but there were two men there all the time, who were the mildest beings I have ever met. I don't think either of them liked me, and I am sure I did not like them; their wildest amusement was a little, a very little golf, and their chief employment was to make themselves generally useful. Everybody, with the exception of Dick and me, seemed to be trying to be young again, it was a most melancholy spectacle. For some time I could not understand how Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson could be a friend of my uncle's, but at last a Miss Bentham, who was always ready to talk, told me that the house-party were having their holidays before they went back to London for the season.
"In London my cousin has so much to do," she continued. "Of course the season is always fatiguing, but Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson makes it more so by her devotion to good works."
I nearly laughed aloud, and thought of saying that if she would be a little more devoted to her son she would not be wasting her time, but I suppressed myself and asked to hear more about the good works.
"She gives so much away, but then she's so rich," Miss Bentham said. "She's devoted to your uncle, but then he's so handsome. Don't you think so?"
"He's fifty," I replied, without remembering to whom I was talking.
"A woman is as old as she looks and a man as he feels," she said, and looked at me.
I knew that I was expected to say that the Bishop must be about thirty, and that she could be scarcely twenty-five, but I really could not do it. The whole place made me feel absolutely unwell.
"My uncle works hard and often feels tired," I remarked after a moment.
"You mustn't think we always enjoy ourselves like this. Here we are quite children again, so very refreshing," but her interest in me had gone. I had been given my opportunity and had not taken it. I should have liked very much to see an interview between Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson in her "good works" mood and my uncle; it would have been a delightful entertainment. But I am sure that he had never seen her when she was taking her holidays, or I should have been left to play cricket and fish with Fred.
In spite, however, of the facts that I was always trying to fulfil the duties which were supposed to account for my presence, and that I liked Dick far better than any one else in the house, I was for some time most popular with Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson. I was new, I suppose, for what other reason there could have been for my popularity I cannot imagine; but at any rate the reason is not worth guessing, for in a brief ten minutes I managed to fall completely out of favour.
The way in which this happened was rather absurd, but it showed clearly enough what an odd kind of woman Dick had for a mother. As a rule I had to play billiards after dinner, but one evening there was somebody staying in the house who persuaded Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson to play round games, and when I went into the drawing-room I discovered that preparations had been made for this form of dissipation. Dick had been allowed to come down to take part in them, and was walking round asking everybody to begin at once; but my experience of round games is that people are generally far more anxious to stop than to begin them. Each person wanted to play a different game, for by this means I fervently believe that they imagined they would get out of playing any at all. I sat down while I had the chance, feeling sure that in a few minutes I should be asked to go outside the door and stay there. I thought that I knew every game of the kind, and when Dick had at last got a few people to look like beginning, I was asked if I knew "it." I had no idea that "it" meant anything out of the ordinary, and I said unblushingly that I did, whereupon Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson asked me to take the chair on her right hand. One of the mild men had already taken up his position on this seat, and to my sorrow he was told to move, though I had no idea that my position was in a peculiar way the place of honour. A lady, who proclaimed many times that she had never done such a thing in her life, stood in the middle of the circle and asked questions, and from the confusing answers she received I discovered promptly that I did not know what game we were playing. At last she came to me and said, "Is it beautiful?" so as we were only allowed to say "Yes" or "No," and the last answer had been "Yes," I said "No." I shall never forget the gasp which followed. Dick, I am ashamed to say, gave way to merriment, but the rest of the people looked at me as if I had committed a crime. It was not hard for me to guess that I ought to have said "Yes"; the agitation had even spread to Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson. The second question asked me was, "Is it old?" and this time I said "Yes," with some fervour; but my answer again caused consternation. Some one indeed declared that it was too hot for games, and in a minute the circle was broken up. Then Dick told me that "it" was always the left-hand neighbour of the person who was asked the question, and I saw that my answers, if true, had also been unfortunate.
Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson went into the billiard-room at once, and I am afraid that even an immediate explanation and apology would not have been considered compensation enough for making her ridiculous. During the next two days Dick and I were left very much to ourselves, and then I asked Miss Bentham, who was, I think, secretly pleased at my answers, to suggest that I should take him to the sea for the rest of his holidays. This request was made in the morning, and we started during the afternoon of the same day, for I had sinned past forgiveness. But unless I had played this game of "It" I should never have had time to make friends with Dick, and he wanted a friend rather badly. He was lonely among a crowd of people, all of whom were ready to give him anything he asked for, except companionship. I started by being sorry for him, and ended by liking him very much; he only wanted some one to take an interest in him, and that I was able to do quite easily. After my tutorship was over Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson wrote to me and hoped that I should often be able to take him away with me, but she expressed no wish for me to stay with her again.
At the beginning of my third summer term I was able to pay Fred the money he had lent me. He protested, but I insisted, for he was Captain of the 'Varsity XI., and was also so popular that during the next few weeks he was bound to have plenty of opportunities for thinking of anything but economy. Besides, this money had been at times a load on my conscience. Economy, either practical or political, has never been a strong point of mine, but I often regretted that I had during my first two years bought a number of things which were more or less useless, because I was not compelled to pay for them at the moment. My difficulties were not overwhelming but they were a nuisance, until the Bishop, who knew both Oxford and me by heart, solved them by giving me a birthday present. Every one, however, has not got a convenient uncle, and without his present I should, owing to the recklessness of my first two years, have been compelled to leave Oxford with bills unpaid, and the prospect of a stormy interview with my father in front of me. I was so genuinely fond of Oxford, and there are so many pleasant things to do there, that I should have been very sorry to leave it with anything hanging over me.
Fast bowlers, both good and bad, were scarce during the whole time I was up, and I was not altogether surprised when Fred chose me to play in the Seniors' Match. In that game I succeeded in getting a few wickets, and soon afterwards I got my Harlequin cap, which pleased me hugely. I am sure that had I not been such an outrageously bad batsman, Fred would have liked to try me for the 'Varsity, but there happened to be another man who did not bowl any worse than I did and who batted much better. So I was left to bowl for the college, and I was not altogether sorry, for if Fred had yielded to his feelings and given me a trial a lot of men would have said it was a swindle. There are a number of people in Oxford who spend their time in looking out for swindles, and of all things in the world they seem to be the easiest to find. In Fred's case, however, I should have had a much better chance of playing if I had not been one of his greatest friends, for he was the very last man to turn his eleven into a sort of family party.
Our eight expected to make seven bumps, and succeeded in making five of them, with which Jack, who rowed six, pretended to be discontented. But we celebrated those five bumps all right, and altogether the college was a splendid place to live in. I stayed in bed much later than usual on the morning after our second celebration, and I suppose every one else was sleepy, for I could hear Clarkson calling his boy a lazy young vagabond, and that always happened when through other people's laziness the unfortunate boy could not get on with his work.
"Who is up?" Clarkson shouted.
"Nobody," the boy answered.
"Then fetch Mr. Thornton's breakfast," for Thornton had moved into rooms next to mine at the beginning of the term.
"Mr. Thornton's in bed."
Clarkson stamped heavily. "What the deuce does he mean by being in bed? Go and fetch his breakfast, and don't answer me when I give you orders."
The boy hurried down the stairs, and I thought Thornton had acted very unwisely in changing his rooms, for if Clarkson got hold of a man of whom he could take charge he was quite certain not to miss his chance. I knew one or two men who lived in greater fear of him than of any don, and I determined to advise Thornton not to be bullied. My efforts, however, were quite useless, for Thornton assured me that he liked our scout and got a great deal of amusement from him.
"Clarkson knows exactly what is best for himself and me, and he is always clean," he said.
"He treats his boy abominably," I replied.
"I wonder what you would be like if you were a scout," he said, and as he obviously thought that I should only be remarkable for my failings, I gave up trying to talk to him.
Thornton was a great puzzle to me, for his one desire was to be left to himself, and apart from speaking at debates and belonging to various literary societies he never seemed to me to do anything. Murray always lost his temper with me when I said that Thornton was extraordinarily odd, and declared that he was one of the cleverest men in the college and would probably be governing some colony when we had sunk out of sight.
In some moods Murray was not a cheerful companion, and I could not help telling him that to be bullied by your scout is not a good preparation for governing anything. And as a matter of fact Thornton became gradually so very eccentric, that even Murray had to admit that if he was a genius he was one who had lost his way.
After our eight had been successful Jack Ward was very anxious that they should go to Henley, but both the Bursar, who had done more to improve our rowing than anybody, and The Bradder wanted them to wait for another year.
"We shall have nearly the same eight next summer, and two or three good freshers are coming up," The Bradder argued.
"I shall be in the schools," Jack replied sadly, and though The Bradder turned away suddenly I saw him smiling, for Jack's essays were some of the most comical things ever written.
Anything which resembled style he said was unwholesome, and although Mr. Grace talked to him like a parent and The Bradder tried persuasion and abuse, he stuck to his solid way of giving information. But he confided in me that the reason was that he couldn't write a proper essay to save his life.
"All I want," he exclaimed, "is a degree, and that's what these men don't understand. Besides, I spell badly; it's a disease with me, and when you have got it, you may be able to think of a word, but you would be a precious fool to use it when another man has to read what you have written. So my vocabulary gets limited, and I'm going to stick to facts, and I shouldn't wonder if the examiners don't like them. They so seldom get them."
I don't think he understood what a very great deal some of the history men manage to know, but, at any rate, his way of tackling the examiners was novel, and considering the disease from which he was suffering, perhaps it was also the best he could choose. So he went on learning things by heart, and put up long lists of things on his looking-glass, or any place where he was likely to see them. I saw the extraordinary word "Brom" pinned on to a photograph of Collier, and found out that it stood for Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde and Malplaquet.
"I can't help thinking that Marlborough finished off with Blenheim, because it is the sort of battle any one who is not even reading history has heard of," he explained, "and I have to get that idea out of my head. You will find all sorts of funny words stuck about the place. I've got 'Kajakk' pinned on to a lobelia in my flower-box, because I am always leaving out Anne of Cleves; she never seemed to have a chance, and you must have the man's wives all right."
"Do you think they matter much?" I asked.
"Of course they do. They are guide-posts to the reign, but they would do much better if half of them were not Katharines."
I suggested that he should call one of them Kate and another Kathleen to avoid confusion, but he said that "Kajakk" would pull him through all right, and that if there was any question about Henry VIII. he did not mean to miss is. I am certain that had he been given an opportunity, the examiners would have had a correct list of these ladies, with a brief note attached to explain why there were so many of them.
Soon after the Eights were over, I heard that The Bradder had invited my people to come up at the end of the term, and as I had never stayed up for "Commem," I wrote back cheerfully, and said we would enjoy ourselves. This letter, however, was answered by my father at once, and my plans were again thrown into confusion. "I want you to leave for Germany when term is over. To get even a smattering of the language you must be there nearly three months, and, unless you go immediately, you will miss all the shooting. I want you to know three modern languages well enough to get into the Foreign Office without any difficulty." This was the beginning of the longest letter I had ever had from him, and in many ways the nicest, but I cannot say that I wanted to spend my summer with a German family, and after consulting Fred, I went to The Bradder to see if he would not help me to stay in England.
"I can't read history and learn German at the same time," I said to him, "and all my work will be wasted unless I do some this vac."
"Your father has evidently made up his mind," he said, but I think that he must have been sorry for me.
"You write and tell him that I shall forget all I have been doing. He will listen to you."
"German is very valuable to you."
"So is history. How can I be expected to work next year when I am packed off every summer to live with a lot of people who don't want me? I get no fun."
"You will like it when you get there, and for this summer you can manage to do enough history to keep up what you know. I will help you as much as I can."
"Why can't I be allowed for once to like a thing in the place where I want to like it?" I asked, and I nearly told him that environment was everything, but he did not like those profound statements any better than I did. I only saw The Bradder really nasty to one man, and he had been fool enough to say that the reason why he cut his lectures was because the whole atmosphere of Oxford was against work, which really was a sickening sort of excuse.
My attempts to get help from The Bradder failed, and as soon as I had worked myself up into a rage he began to laugh.
So after one night at home I started to Germany and my people went to Oxford for "Commem" on the same day, which was a most topsy-turvy state of things. Nina promised to write to me, but I did not expect anything from her except postcards. I was, however, mistaken, for she wrote me a kind of "Oxford day by day," which I, struggling with a strange language in a strange land, was very glad to have. I don't know whether The Bradder taught her to refer to the Vice-Chancellor as the "Vice-Chuggins," but in her description of the Encænia that most important gentleman was certainly not mentioned with the respect which I consider that people, who don't belong to Oxford, ought to feel for him. In fact Nina succeeded in catching the Oxford language so badly that she told me that my father had been having "indijuggers," and I am sure that he would have had a worse attack if he had known what Nina called it. I am sorry to say that she treated the Encænia in a very light and airy way, though some most mightily distinguished men were receiving honorary degrees at the function.
"I like the Sheldonian because it is so round," she wrote to me, "but I was not impressed by the Encænia. The area of the theatre was reserved for the dons, who wore what I believe you call academic dress, but they did not look as if they had room enough to be comfortable. I sat in a gallery with a lot of people, and there was a man, who somebody told me was a Pro-proctor—at any rate he wore robes and looked, I thought, rather nice—to keep order. You do mix up things queerly at Oxford; some of the jokes which were made were really not very funny, and mother was afraid that some one might be offended. She was quite nervous. I liked the Public Orator, who seemed to me to be introducing the people who were to receive honorary degrees to the Vice-Chuggins, and I was sorry for the University prizemen, who wore evening dress and had to read out their prize poems and things. I couldn't hear a word the Public Orator said, but perhaps that was because I had a man near me who made jokes all the time and a bevy of relatives kept up a chorus of giggles. Mr. Bradfield had to go to luncheon afterwards at All Souls. I met Mr. Ward in the Turl yesterday; he was only up for two or three hours, and I thought he said he was going to coach. I am sure he said something about coaching, and as I remembered how fond he was of horses I thought he was going for a driving tour. But it turned out that he was going to read with somebody; very silly of me. Do you remember when he jumped into the 'Cher'? It seems ages ago. Mr. Bradfield punts splendidly, we all like him very much, and father has dined with the Warden, who had toothache and hardly spoke all the evening. Most unfortunate. We are going to the 'Varsity match, and Mr. Bradfield says that Fred is the best bat and captain you have had for ages. I believe mother nearly fainted with delight when she heard this. Mr. Bradfield dances as well as you do."
The next letter Nina wrote was full of The Bradder's perfections, but in the following one he was scarcely mentioned, and my mother, who had never seen Oxford in June, was so delighted with everything that she did not tell me much about anybody. Still I could not help wondering what had happened, for Nina was not usually reticent without a reason.