Briggs was the gayest dog in Balliol. If there was a bonfire in the quad, and if the dons found their favourite chairs smouldering in the ashes, Briggs was at the bottom of it. If the bulldogs were led a five-mile chase at one o'clock in the morning, the gownless figure that lured them on was Briggs. If the supper at Vinnie's became so uproarious that the Proctor thought it necessary to interfere, the gentleman that dropped him from the first-floor window was Briggs. Anyone else would have been sent down over and over again, but—Briggs stroked the Balliol boat: Briggs had his cricket blue; Briggs was a dead certainty against Cambridge for the quarter and the hundred: in short, Briggs was indispensable to the College and the 'Varsity, and therefore he was allowed to stay.
But what is this? A change has come over Briggs. He is another man. Can it be——? Impossible—and yet? Yes, it began that very night. Everyone has heard of Miss O'Gress, the Pioneer. She came up to Oxford to lecture; her subject was "Man: his Position and Raison d'être." Briggs and I went to hear; went in light laughing mood with little fear of any consequences. We listened to the O'Gress. "There is no doubt," she said, "that Man was intended by Nature to be the Father. For this high calling he should endeavour to fit himself by every means in his power. He should cultivate his body so as to render himself attractive to Woman. He should be tall,"—her eye fell on Briggs—"he should be handsome,"—still on Briggs—"he should be graceful, he should be athletic."—At this point her eye seemed fairly to feast on Briggs, and a curious lurid light lowered in it. She paused a moment. I was sitting next to Briggs, and I felt a shiver run through him. I looked at his face, and it was ghastly pale. I asked him in a whisper if he felt faint? He impatiently motioned me to be silent, and remained, as I thought, like a bird paralysed beneath the gaze of a serpent. I heard no more, so anxious was I on my friend's account; nor could I breathe with any freedom until the audience rose and we were once again in the fresh air.
The following day there was a garden-party at Trinity. Briggs said he was playing for the 'Varsity against Lancashire, and therefore could not go. Imagine my surprise then, when, as I was doing the polite among the strawberries and cream, I caught sight of him slinking down the lime grove at the heels of the O'Gress. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes, it was Briggs indeed. The face was his; the features were his; the figure was his; the clothes were his—but, the buoyant step? the merry laugh? where, where, eh! where were they?
* * * * *
The Long Vac. passed, and we were all up again for Michaelmas Term. There was a blank in our circle. "Where's Briggs?" asked Brown. "Where's Briggs?" asked Trotter of Trinity. We looked at one another. What! Nobody seen Briggs? Not up yet?—Better go and see. We went to his rooms. No Briggs there, and not a sign of his coming. We went to Jones. Jones knew no more than we; to Smith, Green, Roberts—all equally ignorant. At last we tried the Porter. What! hadn't we heard the news? News? No! What news? The Porter's face grew long. Why, Mr. Briggs, 'e weren't comin' up no more. Not coming up? Not coming up? Nonsense! Impossible!—Fact, gentlemen, fact. The Master,'e'd 'ad a note from Mr. Briggs, sayin' as 'ow 'e wouldn't be back agin. No one knew nothink more than that. No one could explain it.
There was despair in Balliol. What would become of us? Without Briggs we could never catch B. N. C. Magdalen would bump us to a certainty, and we could hardly hope to escape the House. In football it would be just as bad. Keble and Exeter would simply jump on us, and not a single Balliol man would have his blue. The position was appalling; ruin stared us in the face; the College was in consternation, for Briggs had disappeared.
NOTE BY A NATIONALIST.
"Home Rule all Round!" That cry is in the air:
What Ireland wants, though, is Home Rule all square.