UNEXPECTED PEOPLE
The idea of working for Mr. Gilbert Edwardes never had much attraction
for me, and for the first two or three weeks at Oxford I found it very
difficult to satisfy him. However, the excuse that I took a long time
to settle down in a fresh place did not seem as reasonable to him as it
did to me, so I had to abandon it and try to appease him. The worst of
him was that I never knew whether he was pleased or not; he accepted my
most determined efforts at scholarship as a matter of course and
reserved his eloquence for the occasions on which my work showed
symptoms of haste. In less than a fortnight I felt that my tutor and I
were watching each other, an element of distrust seemed to have sprung
up; he took it for granted that I would do as little as possible, while
I was searching for something which could tell me that he was human as
well as learned.
I could not understand him in the least, for I had been accustomed to
masters who talked about things of which I knew a little even if they
were bored by doing so; but when I met Mr. Edwardes I felt that he
belonged to the ice period, and that he would think the smallest thaw a
waste of time.
I do like a human being, I mean a man who lets you know something about
him and does not barricade himself against you. But a man who puts up
the shutters in front of his virtues and faults bothers me most
terribly, and I always seem to be bumping my head against something
invisible whenever I see him, which is a most disconcerting performance.
Mr. Edwardes was also Murray's tutor, but Murray was not afflicted, as
I was, with the desire to know people more than they wanted to be
known, and he told me that if I would only take Edwardes as I found him
we should get on together splendidly. In spite of Jack Ward, I saw
Murray every day, and the more I knew of him the more I liked him. He
was in my room one evening after Ward had arranged that we were to have
a freshers' wine, and I asked him if he was coming to it.
"I can't go unless I am asked," he said, "and I shan't go now if I am
asked."
I resolved to say a few things to Ward, but I did not know what to say
to Murray.
"Ward is asking everybody he wants, isn't he?" he inquired.
"Yes it was left to him and Dennison, I believe."
"Then I am not likely to be invited, for he and I never could do
anything but have rows with each other at Wellingham."
"What about?" I asked, for Murray had never said much about Ward to me
and I wanted to hear his side of the quarrel.
"It isn't worth repeating," he answered. "I was head of the school and
Ward thought a friend of his ought to have seen. He thinks I am a smug
because I have to work, and I suppose I think he is a fool because he
thinks I am a smug. He is a queer sort, and it is hopeless for me to
try to be friends with him, even if I wanted to be, and I don't."
"He is a fairly good cricketer, isn't he?" I asked, for I had
discovered that when Murray had once made up his mind no efforts of
mine would change it.
"Yes, he would have got into the XI. quite easily only he was so slack,
and the master who looked after our cricket couldn't stand him. It was
rather a swindle that he didn't get into the team all the same."
"I hate slackers," I said, and to prove it I set to work on some Homer
for Edwardes. Murray got his books and we slaved together for nearly
two hours, when a most timid knock sounded on my door, and a man came
in who seemed to be most fearfully nervous. He was carrying a gown and
a cap in his hand, and he looked at Murray, who was not at all an
alarming sight, as if he had encountered a wild man from one of those
regions where wild men are bred. I had never had much practice at
putting any one at their ease, for most people hit me on the back and
call me "old fellow" far too soon; but I tried very hard to calm my
visitor, and though it was six o'clock I asked him to have tea and
every conceivable other thing I could think of, all of which he
refused. He told me his name was Owen, but apart from that I knew
nothing, and the more he fidgeted with the tassel of his cap the more I
wondered why he had come.
Murray, however, guessed that he was in the way and hurried off as soon
as he could. Then Owen made two or three unsuccessful efforts to
begin, until I felt that I must offer him something more, only I had
nothing left to offer. The man who said that hospitality covers a
multitude of emotions went nearer the mark than most of those
word-turning people do. But at last it all came out in jerks, and I
felt most thoroughly sorry for him; if I had been in his place I am
certain I should never have faced such an ordeal.
"I didn't like to tell you why I had come before your friend," he
began; and he still twisted his cap round and round by the tassel. "I
suppose a sort of false modesty prevented me, but I might just as well
have spoken before him."
"Murray is a most awfully good sort," I said lamely, for I wanted to
help him so much that my head felt hot and I could not think.
"I expect he is," Owen went on, "but I haven't come to be friends with
your friends. I only wanted to see you, and the reason is that over
twenty years ago in India your father saved my father's life."
I did feel relieved when he told me that, for I had been imagining that
he was the kind of man who is known as a freak, and had come to win me
over to some stupid crank which he would call a noble cause.
"I am most tremendously glad you have come," I said, and then I began
talking about my father's old regiment, and Owen could not get a word
in until I had finished.
"You don't understand," he said, as soon as he got a chance; "when you
talk about a regiment you only think of the officers, my father was one
of the men."
"I don't see what that matters as long as his life was saved."
"It does matter," Owen replied; "it matters here very much, where there
is not much liberality except in offering meals and things not wanted."
I moved my feet and kicked the fender, the fire-irons jangled together
and he went on: "I ought not to have said that, it is my blundering way
to say the thing I oughtn't; what I meant was that Oxford is not very
liberal to a man like I am, who is here by hard work, and not because
his fathers and grandfathers were here before him. It is impossible in
a place of sets--social, athletic, and all the rest--for a man who has
to work to keep himself, to be treated in the same way as you, for
instance, are treated. I am not what the world calls a gentleman."
"Oh, confound the world," I said, "it is always mixed up in my mind
with the flesh and the devil," and as Owen did not say anything for a
minute I asked him what college he was at.
"I am unattached, St. Catherine's if you like; we are called 'The
Toshers,'" he answered, and there was a note of bitterness in his
voice. "Of course," he went on, "I am boring you to death, but I must
say that I should never have come to see you if my father had not made
me promise that I would. He takes a tremendous interest in both your
brother and you; he knows the place your brother passed into Sandhurst
and where he was in the list when he went out, and last summer he
watched for your name in _The Sportsman_, and when you got any wickets
he was as pleased as Punch. He writes to Colonel Marten still."
I wished I could have said that my father had mentioned him to me, but
if I had I am certain that Owen would have seen that I was not telling
the truth. "My father," I tried to explain, "never talks about
anything he has done. If your father had saved his life I should have
heard of it a hundred times."
"You have the knack of saying the right thing, I shall never get that
if I live to be a hundred;" and then he stood up, and putting a hand on
the mantel-piece looked at the photographs of my people, but he did not
say what he thought about them.
"If I did say the right thing, it was a most fearful fluke," I said,
for I could not be silent. "I simply hate men who walk about patting
themselves on the back because they have had what they call success
with a remark."
He did not listen to what I was saying, but stood staring into the
fire; at last he turned round and held out a hand to me.
"I must thank you," he began; "and there is one other thing I have got
to ask you before I say good-bye. My father asked me to make you
promise that you would never mention what I have told you about his
life being saved by your father, or anything about him. It seems to be
a sort of compact, I don't understand it. He doesn't want your people
to know anything about me, but only you."
I promised, of course, but I felt rather bothered.
"We may meet some day in the street," he said, and he pushed his hand
into mine; but I let it go, and told him to sit down again. For this
last speech of his was annoying, he had evidently got a wrong idea of
me.
"It is no use talking rot," I said. "To begin with, what on earth have
you got to thank me for?"
"If Colonel Marten hadn't saved my father's life, I should never have
been born," he said.
"And you have come to thank me for that?" I said, and I did not mean to
be rude.
"I was told to, you see," he answered.
I looked at him and we both laughed, though I went on laughing long
after he had stopped. The idea of me being thanked for anybody's
existence was beautifully comic.
"It is very good of you to have come," I said, as soon as I could; "but
I don't deserve any thanks and you know that I don't."
"You haven't got much to do with it, perhaps, but you were here and I
should never have been forgiven if I hadn't come to see you. I shan't
come again."
"Oh, bosh," I replied. "What's the good of talking stuff like that?
Of course you will come again, and I am coming to see you, if I may.
How long have you been up here?"
"This is the beginning of my third year."
"What did you get in Mods?" I asked, for I felt sure that he had done
well.
"A First," he answered.
"I wish I had. Where do you live?"
"I shan't tell you."
"You may just as well, for I shall easily find out."
He stood up again, and talked as he strode up and down my room.
"I have been here two years," he began, "and I know that it is
impossible for us to be friends; and when you have thought it over you
will think as I do. My father teaches fencing and boxing in London; I
was educated at a school you never heard of; I am helped here by an old
gentleman who discovered that I was more or less intelligent. He has a
mania for experiments, and I am his latest hobby. Have I said enough
to put you off, or must I go on?"
"I suppose I can please myself when I choose my friends," I said.
"That you most certainly can't do here," he answered. "Let me alone
and I won't bother you any more. Good-night, your bell is going for
dinner."
He walked straight out of my room, and before he had closed the door
Jack Ward rushed in.
"Who is that man?" he asked at once.
"I am not going to tell you," I answered, for I wanted time to think.
"Well he is a funny-looking Johnny anyway, looks as pale as a codfish
and as solemn as a boiled owl. You do collect an odd set of friends;
there's that man Foster, who seems to be deaf and dumb, and Murray, who
gives me the blues whenever I see him, and then this apparition."
"You can just shut up jawing," I answered, as I hunted round for my
gown; "when I want you to criticize my friends I will tell you.
Foster's worth about ten billion of you any day."
I was very angry, but Ward only laughed and told me to hurry up unless
I wanted the soup to be cold.
"We are going to have a little roulette in my rooms to-night," he said,
as we walked across the quad. "Will you come?"
"No, I won't," I answered, and I let him go into the hall first, and as
soon as he had chosen his seat I got as far from him as I could. I saw
him talking to Collier, and they seemed to be amused, which did not
lessen my annoyance. If the freshers' wine had been held on that
evening, I am very nearly sure that I should not have gone to it.
After dinner I waylaid Murray, and dragged him off to see Foster at
Oriel. Two days before Foster had been playing rugger for the 'Varsity
against the London Scottish, and I had neither seen the game, because I
had to play in a college match on the same afternoon, nor had I seen
him since. I wanted to hear whether he was satisfied with himself, but
I wanted also to tell him about Owen.
We found him in the college lodge talking to a whole lot of men, but as
soon as he saw us he grabbed one man and took us to his rooms. I did
not want this fourth fellow, but since he was there I must say that
Foster could not have got any one nicer. His name was Henderson, and
he had been so successful as captain of his school cricket XI. that he
had played three times for Somersetshire during August. His legs and
arms were extraordinarily long and his face was covered with freckles;
one freckle had placed itself on the tip of his nose and I did not get
accustomed to it for a long time--it was the sort of thing which one
kept on looking at to see if it was still there. He would not talk
about his cricket, except to say that he should not have played for
Somersetshire if half the regular team had not been laid up, and he
kept on clamouring to play whist, so that at last we gave way to him.
I had a good opinion of my whist, though how I arrived at it I cannot
explain. Henderson was my partner and he seemed to me to do the most
odd things. For instance when I led a spade and he took the trick,
instead of leading another spade he would begin some fresh suit, which
made me wonder what in the world he was doing. And he did not seem to
think his trumps half as valuable as I thought mine, but just led them
whenever he felt inclined. When Nina, Foster and I played whist it was
considered pretty bad form to lead trumps when we had anything else to
lead, and we kept them for a big outburst at the finish. I pitied
myself considerably for having Henderson as a partner, and I was very
surprised to see Murray doing the same odd sort of things. So at the
end of one rubber Foster and I played together, but I cannot say that
we had much luck, and just at the end I made a revoke which Murray was
brute enough to notice. When Henderson had gone I said that he seemed
to be a rare good sort, but it was a pity he did not know a little more
about whist. I hoped Murray would take that remark partly to himself,
because at the end of every hand he had talked to Henderson about what
might have happened if he had led a different card, and sometimes he
even went on jawing when he had got his fresh hand, which quite put me
off my game. But all Murray did was to laugh, while Foster said to me
that he was afraid our way of playing whist was all wrong, and I had
some difficulty in persuading him that it was not. Then Murray said
something about reading Cavendish carefully, but I had heard some one
say that Cavendish was out of date, so I borrowed this man's opinion
and expressed it as my own, which amused Murray so much that if I had
not been sorry for him I believe I should have lost my temper.
At last, however, we stopped discussing whist, and after I had made
Foster and Murray swear they would tell no one else, I gave them an
account of Owen coming to see me. Before I began Foster declared that
the reason I bound them to keep my secret was because I wanted to tell
it to every one myself. In fact he expected the whole thing to be some
miserable little affair, for I had a habit, which I have since
abandoned, of extracting the most terrific promises of secrecy from my
friends and then telling them something which they did not think as
important as I did. I started that game because I had once told
something really funny to a lot of fellows at Cliborough, and they went
and spread it about so quickly that I could never find any one else who
did not know it, which was simply nothing less than a fraud.
But as soon as I had got fairly into my tale I saw that both Foster and
Murray were interested, and at the end of it I asked them what I was to
do.
"Do you think he meant that he wouldn't have anything more to do with
you, or that he just wanted to show you that he would leave you to
decide what was to happen next?" Murray asked.
"I don't know what he meant," I answered. "He seemed to be in a rage
with the whole of Oxford, only it was not a noisy sort of rage but a
kind of smouldering business, and perhaps I only imagined the whole
thing."
"What was he like to look at?" Foster inquired.
"Pale and dark, and he looked unwell without looking unwholesome," I
replied.
"I saw him," Murray said, "and I thought he would have been rather nice
if he hadn't been so nervous. He has got great big eyes and about half
an acre of forehead."
"He wore a flannel shirt and a turned-down collar, and looked clean," I
told Foster, for I thought he had better know everything.
"Ask him to lunch and Murray and me to meet him," Foster suggested.
"I can't ask a senior man to lunch, it would show that I thought it
didn't make any difference in his case, and I think he would be on the
look-out for things like that. Besides, he wouldn't come."
"I should leave him alone," Murray said.
"I shan't do that, it would make me feel a brute," I replied.
"Find out where he lives and I will come with you and see him. I know
your father, so it will be all right," Foster proposed.
"He has called on me, so he can't mind me going to see him, and I
should like to take you with me. I'll let you know as soon as I have
found out where his rooms are;" and then, as it was getting late,
Foster came down with us to the lodge, and I was half out of the door
before I remembered to ask him about his footer.
"I am playing against Cooper's Hill on Wednesday," he said; "but I
shall be kicked out if I don't play any better than I did on Saturday."
As we walked up King Edward Street Murray did nothing but talk about
Foster, and since I was always delighted whenever I could get any one
on that subject I did not look half carefully enough where I was going.
Murray was in cap and gown, but I was not wearing what is sometimes
magnificently called "academical attire," but had on a cloth cap. It
had never occurred to me that we were likely to meet the "proggins,"
but as I turned into The High we ran full tilt into him, and before I
had time to think of running, a "bulldog" had told me that the proctor
would like to speak to me. There was no way out of it, so I turned to
gratify this unforeseen gentleman and found that he was my tutor, Mr.
Edwardes. He did not trouble to go through the usual formula of asking
me whether I belonged to the University and all the rest of it, but
told me to call upon him the next morning. He spoke so quickly that I
could not hear what time he told me to come, but I supposed any time
would do.
"Did you know that Edwardes was a proctor?" I asked Murray, as soon as
we could go on.
"Some one told me he was; he is a junior proctor, I think."
"And a vile nuisance," I added. "He will be more down on me than ever
now."
"There is no harm in walking about without cap and gown," Murray said.
"I'll bet Edwardes thinks there is," I answered, and as I was feeling
furious at being caught so simply, I gave a tremendous hammer upon the
door of St. Cuthbert's, and when I wished the porter good-night he
glared at me and did not answer.