Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate Part 36

"The abbey will be here the next time you come, let it wait," he said at breakfast.

"I should like to see it," The Bradder replied; "besides, I never kill anything."

"You needn't bother about that."

"I have promised Miss Marten to go, she said she would drive me over,"

he replied, and any one could see that he didn't mean to shoot.

"As you like," my father said, and told me to be ready in ten minutes, though we were not going to start for an hour.

On the top of this we had a very disappointing day, and finished up by getting wet through, so at dinner there were many more danger signals flying than were usual in the shooting season. The Bradder, however, did not notice them, or if he did he thought them ridiculous, and he amused my mother and Nina very much, which under the circ.u.mstances was a grievous offence. I found myself in the position of trying to catch my tutor's eye, so that I could warn him to be careful with my father, and although I realized the comedy of the position I did not appreciate it. To make matters worse The Bradder would not drink any port, and as it was a wine of which my father was proud, he had to say that he never drank any wine at all before his refusal was accepted. Teetotalism in the abstract was a thing which I was encouraged to believe in, but teetotalers, who did not know when to make an exception to general rules, were not approved of at our table when '63 port was before them.

Everything seemed to be going most hopelessly wrong, and I was so anxious to get into the drawing-room that I made several exceedingly fatuous remarks.

"You talk like a Radical," my father said in answer to one of them; "you want this changed and that changed, you had better go up to Hyde Park and take a tub with you, if you want to talk nonsense."

"I probably shouldn't get two people to listen to me," I replied.

"Strahan told me yesterday," he went on, "that they are teaching a lot of this Radical tomfoolery in Oxford now; he says his son has come home stuffed with it, thinks agricultural labourers are underpaid and all the rest. Is it true, Bradfield?"

"I should not say that the feeling at Oxford is as out-and-out Tory as it was, but the young Radical is often a very ridiculous man," The Bradder replied, and took a pear off the dish in front of him and began to peel it.

"Always," my father said.

"Not always; he may conceivably be very sane indeed."

"Never."

The Bradder was quite willing to let the subject drop, but his pear was a mistake and prevented me from suggesting that we should go.

"You sympathize with this Radical feeling?" my father asked him.

"To some extent I share it."

"I can't believe it, I really can't--why, the Radicals want to ruin the army, spend no money on the navy, make magistrates of Tom, d.i.c.k, and Harry, and top everything by letting Ireland do what it likes. They are a dangerous crew."

"I am not a Home-Ruler, though every one must admit that our way of managing Ireland up to the present has not been fortunate."

"But you wouldn't try experiments with a volcano?"

"I would try any experiment with Ireland which it wants, and which I did not think dangerous," The Bradder said, and he seemed to be wholly occupied in trying to say as little as possible without appearing to be ashamed or afraid of his opinions.

"So you are a Radical, but not a Home-Ruler. Well, from the look of you, I should never have thought it. You can go if you like, G.o.dfrey; I should be glad to talk to Mr. Bradfield for a few minutes; he is the first Radical I have ever liked," and he smiled at The Bradder, antic.i.p.ating triumph.

I did not go, and I am glad that I stayed, for both of them had to fight hard to keep their tempers, and their struggles fascinated me.

From the beginning The Bradder made up his mind to treat the duel lightly, but my father pressed him hard, and occasionally provoked a retort which flashed. For more than an hour they talked, and indignant servants, showing heads of expostulation, had to go away unnoticed.

But The Bradder met explosions with what my father called afterwards rank obstinacy, and the man who explodes is naturally angry if he cannot get some one to explode back at him.

"The Warden, from what I have heard of him, would not approve of your opinions," my father said at last.

"He does not meddle with our politics," The Bradder answered.

"He's a wise man," my father returned, and The Bradder laughed.

"The Warden talks about politicians as if they were an army of tuft-hunters, hunting for tufts which they will never find. He refuses to speak seriously about politics."

"The habit of being amused at our failures or cynical about them is becoming too common."

I could not help smiling at the quickness with which the Warden had been toppled off his seat of wisdom, and my father pushed his chair back impatiently.

"The Warden is, I believe, a strong Tory, and reserves his contempt for what he calls 'modern politicians.'"

"I said he was a wise man," my father replied, and the Warden was reinstated.

"He is certainly," The Bradder answered, as we went into the drawing-room.

During the next day I heard from Nina that The Bradder had been denounced as a very dangerous man, all the more dangerous because he was so attractive.

"Father wants him to go," she said.

"He will have to go soon, because term begins in a few days," I answered.

"But why shouldn't a man be a Liberal if he wants to be? We are about a hundred years behind the times down here."

"And had better stay there if we want peace," I added.

"Are you a Liberal?"

"Goodness knows."

"I like a man who knows what he is."

"You mean you like The Bradder; why not say so?"

"Because I meant nothing of the kind. We are going to walk over to Chipping Norbury, if you will come with us."

"I can't. I have promised to call on Mrs. Faulkner, who won't see me."

"Mrs. Faulkner has been rude to mother, and has behaved very foolishly," Nina said, in a way which she considered impressive and I thought humorous.

So The Bradder and Nina went to Chipping Norbury without me, and he stayed for three more days, by which time even my father did not want him to go, though he talked to my mother about him as one of those misguided young men who want England to stand on its head just to see what it would look like.

I found out afterwards that The Bradder described my father to some one as a mixture of cayenne pepper and kindness, and, since there was no harm in it, I pa.s.sed it on.

"I won't have people making up these things about me," he said, but he chuckled, and I am sure he liked the cayenne pepper part of the mixture.