We talked for an hour, at least Ward talked and I listened, but during the years to come I always remembered what he said about himself on that night.
CHAPTER VII
THE INN AT SAMPFORD
I do not suppose that my waking thoughts could be called valuable, for my habit is to lie in bed and wonder vaguely what time it is, and if you start the day in that way and write it solemnly on paper you may just as well keep a diary of what you had for luncheon and where you had tea and all that kind of twaddle, which people write because blotting paper is provided on the opposite page. But on the morning following my conversation with Ward I woke up with the sort of feeling which ought to have been of value to some one, because it was such a mixture that I could not stay in bed. It was the kind of sensation with which I wake when I am going to cross the Channel, only it did not make me rush to my window to see how much wind there was. Nothing I have been told is easier in this life than to make a mountain out of a molehill, but in my short experience it is the wretched little molehills which upset me and not the great big things which sweep me away with them. I would rather have to fight one mountain than two molehills any day, you get so much more sympathy after the struggle. But I must admit that it is not always easy to tell when people will sympathize with you, for I remember that my brother was once in a railway accident, and though he got nothing more than a slight jolt he was considered a hero for a long time, while, a few days later, I sat upon a pin and hurt myself quite badly, but was told by my nurse not to be silly.
During that morning I had a most disagreeable experience. For the first time in my life I was conscious that I had done something for which there was not the least shadow of an excuse, and I found myself trying to guess what my feelings would have been had I been a winner instead of a loser at roulette. There is nothing very profitable in trying to imagine what would have happened if things had turned out differently, at the best it is a waste of time, but all the same it is a game which I, and others I know, play very often. I came to the conclusion that had I won I should have been rather pleased with myself, it is so easy to excuse oneself for winning money, while losing it seems to be foolishly immoral. I made no resolutions for the future, because on the few occasions I have tried to fortify myself in that way, something has occurred to upset me, and Mr. Sandyman, who was my housemaster at Cliborough and very wise, told me once that the weaker the man the more frequent his resolutions. He did not believe so much in pledges and promises as in a boy's honour; if a boy had not a sense of honour no promise on earth could be of any real use to him.
I wished that I had Mr. Sandyman to advise me, but if I had been able to go to him I do not suppose I should have gone, for although I was ashamed of myself, I did not think that I had committed any great offence. I had just been a fool, and with that decision from which, odd as it may seem, I derived great satisfaction, I passed on to the next thing which was bothering me.
I think it was Solomon who said there was safety in a multitude of counsellors, and I wonder what he would have said about a multitude of friends, some of whom could not bear the sight of the others. Ward, hated Murray, and Foster hated Ward, Collier said he hated Dennison, and Dennison said Collier looked more like a pig than a human being. Lambert confided to me that there was hardly a man at St. Cuthbert's whom he would care to introduce to his sister, but as he said the same thing to Ward, Dennison and Collier, leaving each of them with the impression that he was the one man who was considered worthy of an introduction, it was no use to take any notice of Lambert. I condoled with him on having such a remarkably exclusive sister, but he did not take my sympathy in the proper spirit.
My friends were most certainly getting out of hand. In St. Cuthbert's, Murray was the most sensible of the lot, because he enjoyed himself in a steady sort of way, saw the humorous side of everything and went to bed in decent time. I knew just where I was with Murray, he was always glad to see me in his rooms, and he kept his opinions about Ward and Dennison to himself, unless I simply pumped them out of him. No one who did not object to fat men because they were fat could help liking Collier, he was so comfortable and peaceful, and Lambert, with his magnificent opinion of himself, which he expressed frequently in a half-comical, half-serious fashion, was to me more like a man on the stage than an ordinary undergraduate. From morning to night Lambert was self-conscious, even at the wine, when he was sitting on the floor with Webb, he did not forget to shoot down his cuffs. I have already said that Dennison played the piano, he was also considered a wit, and fired off things which Lambert said were epigrams, but Collier, who was full of curious information, declared that most of them were adapted from the Book of Proverbs. However that may be, Dennison had a reputation as a conversationalist, which meant that he wanted to talk all the time. He bored me terribly.
But the man who really worried me was Ward. At first I had thought that he merely wanted to amuse himself, and did not care what he did as long as he got some fun out of it. He did not seem to trouble what men he knew if they were useful to him, and having come to that conclusion about him, I felt that as far as he and I were concerned there was nothing else to bother about. It was not any wonder to me that Foster, who only knew him slightly, disliked him most vigorously, but when Ward came, asking me to take my money back and showing all the best side of his nature, he gave me more to think about than I wanted. An entirely different man had appeared, acknowledging himself a gambler, and not pretending to be sorry—for which I liked him—but with qualities which I had never suspected.