A Man's Man Part 2

"The idea _was_ mooted," replied the c.o.xswain loftily, "but I told them to sit still or they'd get their silly heads knocked together."

"Did he cart them all downstairs?"

"No; it would have been too tame a job with such a set of mangy squirts.

He simply came back and said:--

"'Now, you miserable little snipes, I give you fifteen seconds to quit these premises. The last man out will be personally a.s.sisted downstairs by me. I'm sorry I've only got slippers on.' Still, he landed the Honourable Hopton-Hattersley a very healthy root for all that,"

concluded Dishy, with a seraphic smile. "After that the porter arrived with the Dean's compliments, and it was past the hour for music, gentlemen; but Hughie slapped him on the back and told him that he had arrived too late for the fair. Then he went home to bed as cool as a cuc.u.mber. Oh, he's--Hallo, there he is! I must catch him. So long, you men! See you at lunch, Reggie."

And Mr. Dishart-Watson, swelling with importance, hurried off to overtake a figure which had swung out of a distant staircase in the southwest corner of the court and was striding towards the gateway.

There was no undergraduate slouchiness discernible either in the dress or in the appearance of the Captain of the St. Benedict's boat. He was a strong-limbed, clean-run young man of about twenty-one; perhaps a trifle too muscular to be a quick mover, but, with his broad back and sinewy loins, an ideally built rowing-man. He was a youth of rather grave countenance, with shrewd blue eyes which had a habit of disappearing into his head when he laughed, and a mouth in which, during these same periods of exhilaration, his friends confidently a.s.serted that you could post a letter. He was a born leader of men, and, as the discerning reader will have gathered from Mr. Dishart-Watson's narrative, was still strongly imbued with what may be called public-school principles of justice. He entirely refused to suffer fools gladly or even resignedly, but had a kindly nod for timorous freshmen, a friendly salute for those Dons who regarded undergraduates as an integral part of the scheme of college life and not merely as a necessary evil, and a courtly good-day for fluttered and appreciative bedmakers. He never forgot the faces or names of any of those over him or under him--Dons and college servants, that is; and further, in his own walk of life (a society in which you may recognise the existence of no man, even though he daily pa.s.ses you the salt or gathers you under his arm in the familiarity of a Rugby scrummage, until you have been formally introduced to him), he never pretended to do so.

While Mr. Dishy-Washy's short legs are endeavouring to bring him alongside the striding Olympian in front, it will perhaps be well to explain why it was so absolutely essential to the welfare of St.

Benedict's College that eight young men should enjoy a night's rest untrammelled by revels on the floors below.

For the benefit of those who have never made a study of that refinement of torture known as a "b.u.mping" race, it may be mentioned that at Oxford and Cambridge the various College crews, owing to the narrowness of their rivers, race not abreast but in a long string, each boat being separated from its pursuer and pursued by an equal s.p.a.ce. Every crew which succeeds in rowing over the course without being caught (or "b.u.mped") by the boat behind it is said to have "kept its place," and starts in the same position for the next day's racing. But if it contrives to touch the boat in front, it is said to have made a "b.u.mp,"

and both b.u.mper and b.u.mped get under the bank with all speed and allow the rest of the procession to race past. Next day b.u.mper and b.u.mped change places, and the victors of the day before endeavour to repeat their performance at the expense of the next boat in front of them. The crew at "the head of the river" have, of course, nothing to catch, and can accordingly devote their attention to keeping away from Number Two, which is usually in close attendance owing to the pressing attention of Number Three. And so on.

The racing takes place during four successive evenings in the May Week, so called for the somewhat inadequate reason that it occurs in June. It was now Sat.u.r.day, the last day of the races, and the men of St.

Benedict's knew that an enormous effort must be made that evening. So far they had made two b.u.mps, comparatively easily. Starting from fourth place they were now second on the river, and only the All Saints boat stood between them and the haven where they would be. They had tried last night to bring their foe down, but had failed; they were going to try again to-night, but All Saints were a terribly strong crew. They had been Head for five years, and there were four Blues in the boat. Public opinion admitted that St. Benedict's were about the fastest crew on the river that year, but considered that a seasoned lot like All Saints could keep on spurting away long enough to last out the course.

"Unless, of course," people said, "unless Marrable does something extra special."

It was wonderful what a lot the world in general seemed to expect of Marrable. Character counts for something even among the very young; and there is no more youthful member of society than the undergraduate. The sixth-form boy is a Nestor compared with him.

Meanwhile our diminutive friend Dishy, the c.o.xswain, had succeeded in overtaking his captain, just as that great man stepped into a hansom in Trinity Street.

"Where are you off to, Hughie?" he panted.

"Station."

"People?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm coming with you. I'll cut away before you meet her."

Dishy was one of the few who dared to address Marrable in this strain.

The two installed themselves in the hansom, and while the experienced animal between the shafts proceeded down Trinity Street, b.u.t.ting its way through sauntering pedestrians, pus.h.i.+ng past country-parsonical governess carts, taking dogs in its stride, and shrinking apprehensively from motor-bicycles ridden by hatless youths in bedroom slippers, they discussed affairs of state.

"There's only one way to do it, Dishy," said Marrable. "I'm going stroke."

Dishy nodded approvingly.

"It's the only thing to do," he said. "But who is going to row seven--Stroke?"

"Yes."

"Bow-side will go to pieces," said Dishy with conviction.

"Perhaps. But as things are at present stroke side will."

"That's true," admitted the c.o.xswain. "Let's see now: there'll be you stroke, Duncombe seven, Puffin six--it's worth trying anyhow. We're bound to keep away from the James' people, so we might as well have a shot."

"Clear out now," said Marrable, "and go round and tell the men to be at the boathouse by four, and we'll have a ten minutes' outing in the new order. Then, when you've done that, cut down to the boathouse and tell Jerry to alter my stretcher and Duncombe's."

These commands involved a full hour's excessive activity in a hot sun on the part of Mr. Dishart-Watson; but Marrable was not the man to spare himself or his subordinates when occasion demanded.

The c.o.xswain descended to the step of the hansom and clung to the splash-board as he received his last instructions.

"And tell Jerry," added Marrable, "to get down a new stroke-side oar, with a good six-inch blade. Duncombe's has been shaved down to a tooth-pick."

Dishy nodded cheerfully and dropped off into the traffic.

"The old man means business. We shall go Head now," he murmured to himself with simple confidence. "All right, sir, my fault entirely.

Don't apologise!"

And leaving an inverted motor-cyclist, who had run into him from behind, to congest the traffic and endure laceration from his own still faithfully revolving pedals, the c.o.xswain of the St. Benedict's boat proceeded at a brisk pace back to his College, there to inform a sorely tried troupe of seven that, owing to an eleventh-hour change in the cast, a full-dress rehearsal of their evening's performance had been called for four o'clock sharp.

CHAPTER II

INTRODUCES THE HEROINE OF THIS NARRATIVE

It has been said by those who ought to know that, if the most painful quarter of an hour in a man's life comes when he is s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g himself up to proposing-point, the corresponding period in a woman's is that immediately preceding her first dinner-party in her own house.

Granting the unpleasantness of both these chastening but necessary experiences, a mere male may be excused for inquiring why the second should be ear-marked as the exclusive prerogative of the opposite s.e.x.

There is no more morbidly apprehensive creature under the sun than the undergraduate about to give a state luncheon-party which is to be graced by the presence of his beloved.

Hughie Marrable sat back in his hansom with knitted brow, and checked some hieroglyphics on the back of an envelope.

"Let's see," he murmured to himself, "_Dressed crab_. Can't go wrong there. Told the cook to be sure to send it up in the silver scallops with the College crest on. After all, it's the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs that really appeal to a woman. Not the food, but the way you serve it up. Rum creatures!" he added parenthetically. "_Prawns in aspic_. That always looks nice, anyway, though not very filling at the price. I remember last year Kitty Devenish said it looked simply--"

Hughie checked his soliloquy rather suddenly, and, if any one else had been present in the hansom, would probably have blushed a little. Miss Kitty Devenish was what cycle-dealers term "a last year's model," and at the present moment Hughie was driving to meet some one else. He continued:--

"_Cutlets a la reform_. Quite the best thing the kitchens turn out, but not so showy as they might be. Still, with old Huish's Crown Derby plates--it was decent of the old man to lend them; I hope to goodness Mrs. Gunn won't do anything rash with them--they ought to do. _Gra.s.sy corner pudding_. That always creates excitement, though it tastes rotten. _Fruit salad_; _creme brle_. That's safe enough. _Macaroni au gratin_. She won't touch it, but it'll please Uncle Jimmy and Jack Ames.

Wish I could have some myself! Never mind; only about six hours more!"

Hughie smacked his lips. It is hard to sit among the flesh-pots and not partake thereof. His fare at this feast would be cold beef and dry toast.

He turned over the envelope.

"H'm--drink. Don't suppose she'll have anything, but I can't take that for granted. There's a bottle of Berncastler Doctor and some Beaune. I wonder if it would be best to have them open before I ask her what she'll drink, or ask her what she'll drink before I open them. I'll have 'em open, I think. She might refuse if she saw the corks weren't drawn.