William Waters had dreamed that the Persians, in a fleet of Canadian
canoes, had come up the Thames to attack the College barge, and that he
himself had been sent on foot to demand reinforcements from the Oxford
examiners at Sparta. And after the weary, breathless running, the
hopeless search, in his dream, for the right Greek words, it was most
delightful to open his eyes and find himself comfortably lying in his
familiar bedroom, with the sunlight glowing on the blinds.
"Why am I so happy?" he asked himself, and then he remembered that it
was all over now; for the future he would never have to trouble about
Greek or examinations, or getting up in the morning, or any of their
stupid rules and worries. For the future! As he lay there, lazily
opening and shutting his eyes, vague, bright pictures of the life before
him floated through his mind, and set his heart beating a little
quicker.
William Waters was the son of a business man in a northern town, who,
with some sacrifice, had sent him, the eldest son, to the University, in
order that his education, and the connections he would form, might help
him on in the world. Now that the young man, after a lucky scramble
through the examinations, had just finished four pleasant years of
Oxford life, it was his vague purpose to find some occupation in London,
something pleasant and gentlemanly, which would enable him to live as
he liked.
"Of course, sir, I know one can't expect anything very much at first,"
he said, half aloud, as he imagined himself talking modestly and
sensibly to his tutor. For he was going to talk about it to Ames; old
Ames wasn't such a fool about things of that kind. "There is no nonsense
about that young Waters," Ames would say afterwards; "a modest, sensible
chap, the kind of man who'll always do well." Waters was determined to
do well of course; he would get on, he told himself, when people came to
realize how hard he worked. And as the young man lay there in bed, he
decided that in the future no one should ever accuse him of laziness and
neglecting work. By simply making up his mind to it, he thought he would
entirely change his character, and begin life anew, winning position
and wealth by his own unremitting industry.
Buller and Antrobus would be in London, he told himself, and Philpotts,
most likely, and they would belong to the same club, where they would go
on Sunday mornings to smoke and read the sporting papers. He would work
tremendously hard, of course, spending laborious nights over his books,
but he would also go out a great deal into society. He would not be
dissipated--he didn't care much for that--but still he would not be
Puritanical either. He meant to be moral and steady, and at the same
time he would enjoy the pleasures of a man of the world. But he would be
always kind and popular; people in fashionable society would say that
William Waters was such a good fellow, and in the Park ladies would
smile at him from their carriages, and smart young men would walk with
him arm in arm. And he would live well; but still he would save money,
and would soon pay off his Oxford bills, and send money to his father.
For he would always be very kind to his people, having his sisters to
visit him, helping them to marry well (he himself meant to marry someone
for love who was very rich), and sometimes he would give up parties at
country houses in order to pay them visits at home. How his fur coat and
knowledge of the great world would impress all the neighbours!
"But I must get up," Waters said to himself, remembering how he was to
go and see his tutor and talk over plans. And after luncheon Buller was
going to drive them out, three of them, with his tandem to Woodstock.
And thinking vaguely of this drive, and of some new clothes that he
meant to wear, Waters was just falling off to sleep again, when his
bull-dog came rushing up the stairs, and began to whine and scratch at
the door. Rousing himself, Waters jumped up, and went with a call of
affection to the door to let Lo-Ben in.
After he had bathed and dressed himself in his new fresh-smelling
clothes, the young man sauntered into the sitting-room of his lodgings,
and rang the bell for breakfast. The day was bright; Waters felt
wonderfully fresh and well; there were pleasant aches in his arms and
legs as he moved, for the whole of the day before he had been rowing on
the river.
After breakfast he was just sitting down to smoke his pipe comfortably,
when, looking at his watch, he snatched up his cap and rusty gown, and
started out towards College. By Jove! what a day it was! He walked along
through the sunshine, smiling to himself, while Lo-Ben barked and
bounced from side to side. It was a good world, Waters thought a good
world, and now he was really going to enjoy it.
As Waters was tying up Lo-Ben in the College porch, he was seized on
suddenly from behind.
"Come along, fat William," they cried, pulling and pushing him along,
"we're going to have a little game--you must take a hand."
Twisting himself around, as he struggled, Waters recognized two of his
friends, and appealed to reason breathlessly; he had to go and see old
Ames, on his honour he had; he would look in afterwards, in about
half-an-hour, and stay to luncheon if they liked. So he started across
the quadrangle, looking back and smiling and shaking his head, as he
dodged the bits of gravel with which they pelted him. It was a good
place after all, the old College, Waters thought, when he was out of
danger and could look about. He remembered the two years he had lived
in rooms looking out on this quadrangle; the pleasant hours he had
spent, sitting in the window with his pipe, or lying on the grass whole
Sunday afternoons, lazily reading, or talking with his friends; he
thought of the beautiful chapel, and the old hall that was so much
admired, and how he had sat up a tree one evening and poured water on
the Dean, and how at night the stealthy bonfires had blazed up red and
sudden in the dark.
He was really sorry to leave the old place, he thought sentimentally,
remembering the emotions he had read of as felt by young men in books
when about to leave their school or college. But then, with healthy
common-sense, he told himself that all they wrote in books about your
college days, and life never being so happy afterwards, was damned
nonsense. Waters knew how men lived in London!
"Sorry I'm late, sir," he said as he entered his tutor's room,
addressing the spare shining head that was bent over a heap of papers.
Mr. Ames raised his worn, cynical, kind face, and looked at Waters with
short-sighted eyes. "Oh, no matter, sit down won't you, Waters," and he
gave a last hurried shuffle to his papers. Waters thought that Ames must
spend his life looking for lost papers; and although occasionally
surprised by flashes of almost supernatural knowledge in his tutor, for
the most part he entertained--as a heathen might towards his helpless,
yet vaguely awful, idol--a certain good-natured pity for the
absent-minded, easily outwitted man.
"I thought I'd like to talk things over with you a little," Waters said,
sitting down in a chair that groaned with his athletic weight. "I must
decide what I shall choose, what to go in for."
"To go in for?" Ames repeated, looking at him vaguely.
"I mean, I must choose"; Waters found a pleasure in talking, not as an
undergraduate, but as a serious young man. "One must do something of
course."
"Of course it _is_ better," Ames assented, though he still looked rather
puzzled.
"I thought I'd talk to you about the Bar, or something of the kind."