Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate Part 31

The Professor turned round quickly and forgot to drop my hand, with the result that I was pulled from my soda-water case on to the floor.

"I thought," he gasped, "it was old Ally Sloper."

I managed to escape from him and to stand up. Hubert, however, did not say anything, but began to brush my coat with his hand.

"Who is Ally Sloper?" I asked, for I began to think that the Professor, who was looking ashamed of himself, was a lunatic.

"He's Mr. King, the man who helps me at Oxford, he dresses rather funnily," Hubert explained.

"He bothers me when I am not well," the Professor added, but he did not seem certain what line to take and kept his back turned to both of us.

"If you would only be well, he wouldn't bother you," Hubert said at once.

"I am better than I used to be. You know how the weather upsets me, I haven't had an afternoon off for six weeks. Ask Emily," and when he turned round the tears were once more rolling down his cheeks, and I was desperately afraid that I was in for a regular scene.

"You are nearly all right now," I said, "and I must be going if Hubert will walk a little way with me."

He took my hand again and held it. "You will not think very badly of an old man who has served his country," he said.

"No, but I do think you ought to be----" and then I stopped.

"What?"

"It's no business of mine."

"You are the son of the man who saved my life."

"Oh don't," I replied, and a tear dropping plump on the back of my hand settled me. "I was going to say ashamed of yourself."

"To think that any one should say that in the presence of my son," he said, and dropped my hand.

"I have said it a hundred times, but no one else has ever had the pluck to," Hubert put in.

"Kick a worm when he doesn't turn," he said confusedly.

"That's all rot," I answered, and something compelled me to walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder. "You aren't a worm, and I wouldn't dare to kick you. Wouldn't dare, do you see; you're a fine, big chap, why in heaven's name don't you pull yourself together? I don't know much about it, but I'll bet it's worth it. A man like you oughtn't to go crying like a baby."

"No sympathy," he moaned.

"Rot," I said again. "I shall tell my uncle about you, he'll be a jolly useful friend."

"What's he?"

"A parson."

"Two pennuth of tea and a tract. No thanks," he shook his head decidedly.

"He's not that kind. A man isn't bound to be an a.s.s because he is a parson."

"You seem to have kind of taken charge of me," he said.

"I don't mean any harm," and then, for it was no time for facts, I added, "I like you, you are an awfully good sort, really."

"Me and the parson uncle," he said, and he gave a hoa.r.s.e chuckle. "We should do well in double harness. I'd pull his head off in about ten minutes."

"May I ask him to call on you?"

"You'd better see what Hubert says. I'm only a dummy."

"A good big dummy," I answered, with the intention of taking myself off pleasantly.

"Oh, be rude. Trample on me, call me names," and then swelling out his chest and glaring at me, he added, "Hit me."

"I shouldn't care to risk it," I returned, and asked Hubert, who had been walking aimlessly round the room, if he was ready.

We left at last, and were pursued down-stairs by volleys of apologies.

I had to stop twice and shout back that I was not offended and that I forgave everything, though from the way I had talked to him it struck me that he had about as much to forgive as I had.

We walked towards Victoria without speaking, and when I did try to talk I was most horribly hoa.r.s.e, I must have fairly shouted at the Professor.

"My father's often like that after an afternoon off," Owen said presently. "He's first angry and then apologetic, and in the end he's most horribly ashamed of himself. Wednesday afternoon is his worst time, and I generally try to be with him and then he's all right, but I got stopped to-day. He comes down to my aunt's on Sundays, though he hates it."

"I believe he would like my uncle, he wouldn't jaw and cant."

"Do as you like. I've never thanked you, except in letters, for seeing me through that illness."

"How are you now?"

"All right; I feel as if I have been ill, that's all."

"You've got to come down to Worcesters.h.i.+re," I said; "a fortnight there will do you more good than years of West Ham."

"I can't do that," he answered at once.

We turned into Victoria Station and sat down on a bench. For some minutes I listened to his objections and answered them; in all my life I do not think I have ever been quite so sorry for any one, though I had sense enough not to tell him so. I felt rather a brute when I left him; it seemed to me that I had been having a most splendid time without knowing it, while he had been having a very wretched one, but I can't keep on feeling a brute long enough for it to do me any good, if feeling a brute ever does any good.

I overcame all Owen's objections, and I made him promise to come to Worcesters.h.i.+re, but as soon as I had time to think about it I wondered what on earth I should do with him when I had got him. I could count on my mother as an ally. I did not altogether know what my father would think, and Nina, as far as I was concerned, was represented by x in a problem to which no one had ever found an answer which was anything like right.

The first thing to do, however, was to go for the Bishop, and I think I can say that I went for him at some length. I didn't explain well, or he was very stupid, because he got dreadfully mixed up before he got the facts of the case clearly, and I can't say that he seemed altogether pleased when I told him that I had as good as promised that he would be a friend to the Professor.

"As it is, I am rushed off my legs. Who was it you said he had trained?"

"Ted Tucker." I had brought that in as a piece of local colour or whatever it is called, just to liven things up a bit, but I am afraid it was a mistake.

"You see, I don't know anything about prize-fighters. I did box once, but that's years ago."

"Why, you're the very man," I exclaimed. "He'd love you; he's not a bit more like a prize-fighter than he is like a Professor, he's more like a sort of prehistoric man in blue trousers and a s.h.i.+rt."