"1. Show the fallacy of defining an angle, as a worm at one end and a
fool at the other.
"2. If a freshman _A_ have any mouth _x_ and a bottle of wine _y_, show
how many applications of _x_ to _y_ will place _y_+_y_ before _A_.
"3. Find the value of a 'bob,' a 'tanner,' a 'joey,' a 'tizzy,' a
'poney,' and a 'monkey.'
"4. If seven horses eat twenty-five acres of grass in three days, what
will be their condition on the fourth day? Prove this by practice."
Mr. Pucker did not know what to make of such extraordinary and
unexpected questions. He blushed, tried to write, fingered his curls,
and then gave himself over to despair; whereupon Mr. Bouncer was seized
with an immoderate fit of laughter, which brought the farce almost to an
end.
"I'm afraid, young gentleman," said Mr. Bouncer, "that your learning is
not yet up to the Brazenface standard. But we will give you one more
chance to retrieve yourself. We will try a little _vivâ voce_, Mr.
Pucker. If a coach-wheel 6 inches in diameter and 5 inches in
circumference makes 240 revolutions in a second, how many men will it
take to do the same piece of work in ten days?"
Mr. Pucker grew redder and hotter than before, and gasped like a fish
out of water.
"I see you will not do for us yet awhile," said his tormentor, "and we
are therefore under the painful necessity of rejecting you. I should
advise you to read hard for another twelve months, and try to master
those subjects in which you have now failed."
Disregarding poor Mr. Pucker's entreaties to matriculate him this once
for the sake of his mother, when he would read very hard--indeed he
would--Mr. Fosbrooke turned to Mr. Bouncer and gave him some private
instructions, and Mr. Verdant Green immediately disappeared in search of
his scout, Filcher. Five minutes afterwards, as the dejected Mr. Pucker
was crawling out of the quad, Filcher came and led him back to the rooms
of Mr. Slowcoach, the real examining tutor.
"But I have been examined," Mr. Pucker kept on saying dejectedly. "I
have been examined, and they rejected me."
"I think it was an 'oax, sir," said Filcher.
"A what!" stammered Mr. Pucker.
"A 'oax--a sell," said the scout. "Those two gents has been 'aving a
little game with you, sir. They often does it with fresh parties like
you, sir, that seem fresh and hinnocent like."
Mr. Pucker was immensely relieved at this news, and at once went to Mr.
Slowcoach, who, after an examination of twenty minutes, passed him. But
Filcher was alarmed at the joyful way in which he rushed out of the
tutor's room.
"You didn't tell 'im about the 'oax, sir, did yer?" asked the scout
anxiously.
"Not a word," said the radiant Mr. Pucker.
"Then you're a trump, sir!" said Filcher. "And Mr. Verdant Green's
compliments to yer, sir, and will you come up to his rooms and take a
glass of wine with him, sir?"
It need hardly be said that the blushing Mr. Pucker passed a very
pleasant evening with his new friends, and that Mr. Verdant Green was
very proud of having got so far out of the freshman's stage of existence
as to take part in one of the most successful hoaxes in the history of
Oxford.
_III.--Town and Gown_
Mr. Verdant Green, Mr. Charles Larkyns, and a throng of their
acquaintances were sitting in Mr. Bouncer's rooms, on the evening of
November 5, when a knock at the oak was heard; and as Mr. Bouncer roared
out, "Come in!" the knocker entered. Opening the door, and striking into
an attitude, he exclaimed in a theatrical tone and manner:
"Scene, Mr. Bouncer's rooms in Brazenface; in the centre a table, at
which a party are drinking log-juice, and smoking cabbage leaves. Door,
left, third entrance. Enter the Putney Pet. Slow music; lights half
down."
Even Mr. Verdant Green did not require to be told the profession of the
Putney Pet. His thick-set frame, his hard-featured, battered, hang-dog
face proclaimed him a prize-fighter.
"Now for a toast, gentlemen," said Mr. Bouncer. "May the Gown give the
Town a jolly good hiding!"
This was received with great applause, and the Putney Pet was dressed
out in a gown and mortar-board, and the whole party then sallied out to
battle. From time immemorial it has been the custom at Oxford for the
town-people and the scholars to engage, at least once a year, in a wild
scrimmage, and the pitched battle was now due. No doubt it was not quite
fair for the men of Brazenface to bring the Putney Pet up from London
for the occasion; but for some years Gown had been defeated by Town, and
they were resolved to have their revenge.
When Mr. Bouncer's party turned the corner of Saint Mary's, they found
that the Town, as usual, had taken the initiative, and in a dense body
had swept the High Street and driven all the gownsmen before them. A
small knot of 'varsity men were manfully struggling against superior
numbers by St. Mary's Hall.
"Gown to the rescue!" shouted Mr. Bouncer, as he dashed across the
street. "Come on, Pet! Here we are in the thick of it, just in the nick
of time!"
Poor Mr. Verdant Green had never learnt to box. He was a lover of peace
and quietness, and would have preferred to have watched the battle from
a college window; but he had been drawn in the fray against his will by
Mr. Bouncer. He now rushed into the scrimmage with no idea of fighting,
and a valiant bargee singled him out as an easy prey, and aimed a heavy
blow at him. Instinctively doubling his fists, Mr. Verdant Green found
that necessity was indeed the mother of invention; and, with a passing
thought of what would be his mother's and his maiden aunt's feelings
could they see him fighting with a common bargeman, he managed to guard
off the blow. But he was not so fortunate in the second round, for the
bargee knocked him down, but was happily knocked down in turn by the
Putney Pet. The language of this gentle and refined scholar had become
very peculiar.
"There's a squelcher for you, my kivey," he said to the bargee, as he
sent him sprawling. Then, turning round, he asked a townsman: "What do
you charge for a pint of Dutch pink?" following up the question by
striking him on the nose.
Unused to being questioned in this violent way, the town party at last
turned and fled, and the gownsmen went in search of other foes to
conquer. Even Mr. Verdant Green felt desperately courageous when the
town took to their heels and vanished.
At Exeter College another town-and-gown fight was raging furiously. The
town mob had come across the Senior Proctor, the Rev. Thomas Tozer; and
while Old Towzer, as he was called, was trying to assert his proctorial
authority over them, they had jeered him, and torn his clothes, and
bespattered him with mud. A small group of gownsmen rushed to his
rescue.
"Oh, this is painful," said the Rev. Thomas Tozer, putting the
handkerchief to his bleeding nose. "This is painful! This is exceedingly
painful, gentlemen!"
He was at once surrounded by sympathising undergraduates, who begged him
to allow them to charge the town at once. But the Town far outnumbered
the Gown, and, in spite of the assistance of the reverend proctor, the
fight was going against them. The Rev. Thomas Tozer had just been
knocked down for the first time in his life, and the cry of "Gown to the
rescue!" fell very pleasantly on his ears. Mr. Verdant Green helped him
to rise, while the Putney Pet stepped before him and struck out right
and left. Ten minutes of scientific pugilism, and the fate of the battle
was decided. The Town fled every way, and the Rev. Thomas Tozer was at
last able to look calmly about him. He at once resumed his proctorial
duties.
"Why have you not on your gown, sir?" he said to the Putney Pet.
"I ax yer pardon, guv'nor," said the Pet deferentially. "I couldn't get
on in it, nohow. So I pocketed it; but some cove has gone and prigged
it."
"I am unable to comprehend the nature of your language, sir," said the
Rev. Thomas Tozer angrily, thinking it was an impudent undergraduate. "I
don't understand you, sir; but I desire at once to know your name and
college."
Mr. Bouncer, however, succeeded in explaining matters to the proctor,
who then congratulated the Pet on having displayed pugilistic powers
worthy of the Xystics of the noblest days of Ancient Rome. Both the Pet
and the undergraduates wondered what a Xystic was, but instead of
inquiring further into the matter, they went to the Roebuck, where,
after a supper of grilled bones and welsh-rabbits, Mr. Verdant Green
gave, "by particular request," his now celebrated song, "The Mar-arble
Halls."
The forehead of the singer was decorated with a patch of brown paper,
from which arose a strong smell of vinegar. But he was not ashamed of
it; indeed, he wore it all the next day, and was sorry when he had to
take it off--for was it not, in a way, a badge of courage?
From this time Mr. Verdant Green began to despise mere reading-men who
never went in for sports. He resolved at once to go in for them all. He
took to rowing, and was rescued from a watery grave by Mr. Bouncer.
Then, defeated but undaunted, he took to riding, and was thrown off. But
what did it matter? Before the term ended, he grew more accustomed to
the management of Oxford tubs and Oxford hacks.
It is true that the unfeeling man who reported the Torpid races for
"Bell's Life" had the unkindness to state in cold print; "Worcester
succeeded in making the bump at the Cherwell, in consequence of No. 3 of
the Brazenface boat suffering from fatigue." And on the copy of the
journal sent to Mrs. Green of Manor Green, her son sadly drew a pencil
line under "No. 3," and wrote: "This was me." But both Mrs. Green and
Miss Virginia Green were more than consoled when their beloved boy
returned home about midsummer with a slip of paper on which was written
and printed:
GREEN, VERDANT, È. Coll. AEn. Fac. Quiæstionibus Magistrorum Scholarum
in Parviso pro forma respondit.
Ita testamur (GULIELMUS SMITH.
(ROBERTUS JONES.
In other words, Mr. Verdant Green had got through his Smalls. But, sad
to say, poor Mr. Bouncer had been plucked.
Mr. Verdant Green smiled to himself. It was the sheerest bit of good
luck that he had managed to get through. Still, he had learned more at
Oxford than was taught in books--he had learned to be a manly fellow in
spite of his gig-lamps.
* * * * *