Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate Part 40

There is something horribly mean about surprise visits, whatever information may be got from them, and for the first time in my life I felt a little sympathy for Dennison.

Whether his father thought this visit successful or not I do not know, but he certainly found out a lot in a short time and came to a very definite decision. He called on Dennison at ten o'clock and found him sleeping, he called again at twelve o'clock with the same result; at one o'clock he discovered him sitting at breakfast in his dressing-gown. Lambert was unfortunate enough to hear some of the interview which followed, and he said that Dennison's defence was very clever, but that he broke down under cross-examination.

"I have never seen such a man as old Dennison," I heard Lambert telling some one in the common-room; "he looked like a piece of marble, and when I went in and wanted to bolt he treated me as if I was an office-boy, and said that as he believed I was a particular friend of his son's it would do me good to stay. The worst of it was that Dennison wasn't very well, and was having a pick-me-up with his brekker. He wasn't in bed until four this morning, so it's no wonder he didn't look very fit."

On the following afternoon Dennison left Oxford; he was not sent down by the dons, but had to go for the simple reason that his father said he would not let him stay any longer. His friends took him down to the station, and there was a procession of cabs and a noise, but I am sure that there was a feeling of relief in the college when he had gone.

Jack and I told each other that we were sorry that his end had come so suddenly, although if any one had asked me what I meant, I am sure that I could not have given any explanation. It is not very hard to guess what would have happened to him if his father had not acted as he did, and if you have to leave Oxford abruptly I should think the best way is to be hurried off by your people; it must save so many explanations when you get home.

What happened to Dennison I cannot say; somebody said that he was going round the world or on to the Stock Exchange, but Lambert denied both these reports, and declared that he had reformed so violently that he had become a teetotaler and intended to wear a blue riband in his b.u.t.ton-hole. I doubted the blue riband part of the story, and if Dennison ever wore one I think it would only be on Boat-race day, for it takes a tremendous lot of courage to wear a badge of any kind.

After Dennison had disappeared, Jack and I saw The Bradder nearly every day. His keenness on the college increased instead of wearing off with time, and he seemed to be exactly the right kind of man to be a don.

His energy was really terrific, and I received more goads than I could endure conveniently, so I pa.s.sed some of them on to Jack and chose those which I liked the least, not, I am afraid, the ones which Jack might be inclined to receive with patience.

The Bradder persuaded me to join both a Shakespearian and a Browning Society, and as I could not plunge into such things by myself I dragged Jack with me. The Shakespearian Society was pleasant enough, but after two meetings of the Browningites Jack said flatly that he would not go again. Some of the Browning men objected to the windows being opened, and it is very difficult to keep awake in a stuffy room when you have been taking hard exercise in the afternoon. Jack, at any rate, snored so loudly at the second meeting that he shocked the President, and when he woke up he interrupted a discussion by giving a very fluent lecture on the advantages of ventilation. I expect that he would have been turned out of the society if he had not resigned, and I ought not to have dragged him into it, for he was so violently bored by the whole thing that he declared he must have a little pleasure to make him forget all about it.

"Something in the open air," he said to me, when he came to my rooms on the morning after he had snored, and he looked at a volume of _Stubbs'

Const.i.tutional History_ as if he was very tired of it. I was also feeling rather dull, for I had already got through a fortnight of my gating, and to be kept in college after nine o'clock night after night is not very exciting.

"A little change is what we want," Jack went on, as I said nothing.

"I can't do much," I answered; "I'm gated and you have got to row."

"I've got a day off to-morrow; the stroke of my boat has to go to town and bow's ill."

"Why not have a day's hunting?" I asked.

"There is a little race-meeting down below Reading; you pulled me into that Browning thing and it is only fair for you to come to this."

"But I shan't be back in time."

"It's only about twenty miles beyond Reading, and there's no footer match, because I've looked to see. Let's get Bunny Langham and have a rest, it will do us all no end of good. Bunny is going in for politics--his father was President of the Union, and he has got to be, if he can. I should think that there are more Presidents of things in Oxford than any other place in the world, unless it's Cambridge; but Bunny will stick some of his own poetry into his speeches, and the men at the Union don't like it. You can tell him that if ever he expects to be President he must stop that game, he takes no notice of what I say about poetry. You'll come?"

We looked up trains and found out that we could be back by half-past six, so I said that I would go, and Jack went off to see Bunny Langham.

As far as racing was concerned the Horndeane meeting was not very interesting, for there was not a close finish in any race which I saw, but if any one has a fancy for picking up very inexpensive horses I should advise them never to miss Horndeane.

I was strolling about with Bunny and Jack after one race, and saw the winner of it brought out for sale. It fetched a hundred and sixty guineas, and Jack said it was "dirt cheap." Then another horse was put up, and I was surprised to hear some one bid ten guineas. Such an offer seemed to me ridiculous for a race-horse, so without thinking, and just to help things on a bit, I said "eleven," and strolled on with Jack; but before we had gone far some one was asking my name, and another man was asking me what I wished him to do with the horse. So many questions bothered me, and I tried to explain that I had made a mistake when I had said "eleven," but it seemed as if such mistakes did not count for much.

"The horse is yours," one man said.

"And he's got the temper of a fiend," the other man added, "and I should like you to find some one to take him at once."

I was quite prepared to give him away if I could find any one foolish enough to have him, but Bunny wouldn't hear of it, and declared we would take him back to Oxford with us. "He may be a gold mine, who knows?" he said.

Jack laughed so much, that while I was surrounded by a lot of impatient people he was unable to help me at all, and I can tell those who have never had to suffer as I did, that to become an owner of a race-horse suddenly is a very awkward experience.

My brute was called "Thunderer," and the man who had got hold of him said that his name was the only good thing about him, for he roared like the sea. I wished heartily that some one would steal my horse, but every one seemed to be most distressingly anxious to keep as far away from him as possible.

I suppose Bunny knew all about racers, for in a few minutes he had arranged for a horse-box to be put on our train, and Thunderer disappeared. I seemed to spend the remainder of the afternoon in being asked for money by people who said they had done or were going to do something for me. I found that my exalted position brought many burdens with it, and I was very glad when we left the race-course.

Unfortunately, however, we trusted to Bunny's watch, and when we got to the station, which was on a little branch line, our train to Reading had gone. There had been some bother about the horse-box, and the station-master and a number of people who took an unabating interest in me were quarrelling when we arrived. I sat down on a bench and left Bunny to talk to them; I have never been so tired of anything in my life.

Even if the next train was punctual we had to wait for an hour, and by no chance could we reach Oxford before half-past seven. We should have been annoyed in any case, but Jack and I were very irritated because the Mohocks were meeting that evening, and we had men dining with us.

The only thing to do was to telegraph and ask some one to look after our guests until we came, but the station had no telegraph-office, and if we wanted to send a telegram we had to go down to the village.

A porter a.s.sured us that we could get to the post-office in ten minutes, and that the road was quite straight. I don't know what he was thinking about, possibly of a bicycle and daylight, for the way to the village needed a lot of finding, and it took us quite half-an-hour to reach the post-office. By that time a thick fog had risen. We tried, and failed, to get any kind of vehicle to take us back to the station, so we started to run and lost our way. The natural result was that we missed another train, and the stationmaster, who must have had an especial dislike for me, had not sent on the horse-box, and was more angry than ever. Of all the obstinate people in the world I think a station-master at a small station can be easily first, and our efforts to soothe him produced no effect whatever. Everything he said began with "I know my business," and I have always been inclined to doubt people who try to crush me with such unnecessary information.

We got away eventually, but my misfortunes were not finished. Our train was very late at Reading and there was no longer any chance for me to be in college by nine o'clock. Jack, too, was bothered about the men whom he had asked to dinner, and Bunny alone remained in a state of unruffled contentment.

When the train came at last I got into a carriage with only a glance at the people in it, and tried to go to sleep, but Bunny kept on talking about Thunderer and had magnificent schemes for my future benefit. I regret to say that he was in what must have been a sportive mood, and asked me to choose my racing colours and my trainer. He kept up a long series of questions which I did not answer, but which prevented me from going to sleep. I opened my eyes reluctantly and saw Jack slumbering in a corner, but when I looked at the man opposite to me I became most thoroughly awake. This man, as far as I remember anything about him when I got into the carriage, had his head buried in a newspaper; now he was revealed as Mr. Edwardes, and having wished me "good-evening,"

he added--quite superfluously--that he was surprised to see me.

Bunny with more curiosity than good manners put on his gla.s.ses to look at Mr. Edwardes, and I, having to say something, thought that I might as well introduce them to each other, though I took care to mumble Bunny's name so that it could not be heard. Mr. Edwardes bowed and opened his paper again, but Bunny having arrived at the fact that I was face to face with a don of some kind, thought he would try to pa.s.s the time pleasantly. Considering what he had already said about race-horses nothing could have been more fatuous than his attempts to explain why I was not in Oxford. He began by talking about British industries, and in a minute was saying that he thought a visit to Huntley and Palmer's biscuit manufactory was well worth a visit to Reading. I kicked and nudged him incessantly, for the snubs which he received from Mr. Edwardes only seemed to encourage him.

The distance between Reading and Oxford is happily not great, but by the time we had finished our journey I was in a state of profound discomfort, and though I had no love for Mr. Edwardes, I thought that Bunny might have had the sense to know that if he was amusing himself he was making things more difficult for me. His explanation was that a man who looked like a frozen image was just as likely to believe that I had been inspecting Huntley and Palmer's manufactory as buying a race-horse, and at any rate it was a good thing to try and mix him up a little, but I can't say that I thought the explanation a good one.

When we got to Oxford a man from a livery-stable was waiting for Thunderer, and Jack and I reached St. Cuthbert's just as the Mohocks were coming back to college after playing pool. It was half-past ten before I could explain things to the men whom I had asked to dine with me, and when they heard that I had been buying a race-horse they thought that my excuses were good enough.

The Bradder was dining with the Mohocks that evening, and when the out-college men had gone away he asked me to come to his rooms and have a smoke. I looked at Jack, and The Bradder said at once, "Ask Ward to come with you," and walked off across the quad.

We told him exactly what we had been doing, and I think Mr. Edwardes would have been rather surprised to see how he laughed.

"What would Colonel Marten say if he knew you had bought a race-horse?"

he asked me.

"I hope to goodness he never will know," I answered.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Sell him--if I can; Langham's got him in the stables where he keeps his horses, and if you would like to have a look at him, I'll take you round."

But The Bradder shook his head.

"You say Mr. Edwardes saw you at Reading, and that you are gated, and were not in college until ten o'clock. I wish you would not do such stupid things," he said quite seriously.

"It was the reaction," I replied.

"From what?"

"Browning," I said, and The Bradder did not look altogether pleased.

"I am sorry you can't appreciate Browning."

"I can't appreciate very many things at once. Besides, Jack and I felt very dull."

"Mr. Edwardes saw you, I suppose?" he asked Jack.

"I should think so, but I don't think he knows me by sight."

"Oh yes, he does," The Bradder said. "Both of you are bound to hear more about this."