THE WINE
The faculty of making people angry without meaning to do so is a most
fatal possession. When I remember the men I know who seem to be
constitutionally unpleasant and who walk about saying sarcastic things,
I do think I am unlucky. For I annoy people quite unintentionally, and
it must be the most stupid way of bringing about a bad result. I get
no fun for my money, so to speak. Honestly I did not hear at what time
Mr. Edwardes told me to call upon him, and when I strolled over to his
rooms about eleven o'clock on the following morning, I had no idea that
he was likely to be more than usually displeased. But it did not take
me a moment to discover that he was very angry indeed. From what he
told me it seemed that I ought to have appeared at nine o'clock with
many other men as unfortunate as I was, and he evidently considered
that I had not come at the proper hour because I had thought that one
time would do as well as another. I told him that I did not hear him
mention any particular time, but I do not think he believed me, and
after I had paid him five shillings for being without my cap and gown
he did not even thank me, but looked first at his watch and then at a
long list which he had on his table.
"It is now a quarter-past eleven, and I believe Mr. Armitage's lecture
at Merton begins at eleven o'clock. May I ask why you have decided not
to attend his lecture this morning?" and he screwed his mouth up until
it seemed to disappear.
His question was difficult to answer, because I could not tell him that
Murray and I had decided that Mr. Armitage lectured very badly, and
that I had expressed my intention of cutting his lectures whenever I
felt inclined. So I said that I had forgotten Mr. Armitage's lecture,
which happened to be the truth.
"I am afraid, Mr. Marten, that you take a very light view of your
responsibilities," he said. "It is unusual, I imagine, for an
exhibitioner of a college to interview the proctor as soon as you have
done; the college authorities naturally expect their scholars and
exhibitioners to obey the rules of the University, and they also expect
them to apply themselves earnestly to their studies. At the present
moment I am unable to consider that you have realized either of these
expectations."
"Well, sir, they are early days yet," I said with a smile, for I
thought it was best to take a cheery view of the situation.
"This is no jest," he replied, and his teeth snapped together very
disagreeably.
"I did not mistake it for one," I said, and I wanted to be amicable;
"but being without cap and gown last night is not a very awful offence,
is it? The proctors would have a very dull time if they did not catch
men sometimes."
I cannot imagine why I made that last remark, except that he had fixed
his little eyes upon me when I began and it seemed to be dragged out of
me.
"I do not think that you need trouble yourself about the duties of the
proctors, Mr. Marten. Good-morning, and please remember what I have
said to you."
I left his room smiling, and I am sure he thought I was laughing at
him; but what really amused me was being called "Mr. Marten," for I had
not grown accustomed to my prefix and the sound of it was most comical
to me. I am afraid my taste for jokes was very different from that of
my tutor.
When I came away from Mr. Edwardes I stood in the front quadrangle and
whistled. My whistle is unmusical and penetrative, useful only when a
dog has been lost, and some man, whom I did not know, put his head out
of his window and said abruptly, "For heaven's sake shut up that vile
noise;" another man chucked a penny into the quad and told me he should
send something heavier if I did not stop. The front quad was obviously
no place for me, but before I had made up my mind where I would go the
Warden came out of his house and saw me before I saw him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Marten," he said before I could escape; "it is so
unusual to find a beautiful quadrangle totally uninhabited that you
seem to be undecided whether to leave it or not. Your whistle as I
stood by the open window of my bedroom suggested to me that you are not
employing your time most advantageously either to yourself or to
others."
He stood by me for a moment, and then moving on with his peculiar
shuffle disappeared through the doorway leading into the college
gardens. My nerves were becoming upset from these constant encounters,
and as I felt that I could not sit down and work until I had some kind
of an antidote, I went up to see Jack Ward, who had rooms in the front
quadrangle.
I found him, as I thought, most beautifully unemployed, but as soon as
he had asked me whether my temper was better in the morning than at
night, of which remark I took no notice, he said that he was being
worried to death.
There were two telegrams lying on his table, and I thought something
awful had happened to his people, so I tried to look sympathetic and
replied that if he would rather be left alone I would go at once. Then
he broke forth into the language of towing-paths and barges and asked
me whether I was a lunatic, which was a fairly nasty question when I
thought I was treating his trouble in a becoming spirit. I was not,
however, sure what was the matter with him, so I did not say what I
might have said but asked him to tell me why he was bothered.
"You see it is like this," he answered, picking up both the telegrams;
"one of our groom fellows at home has a brother who knows everything
about Blackmore's stable, and he has just wired to me that Dainty Dick
will win the Flying Welter at Hurst Park to-day, and I was off to back
it when I get a wire from my tipster, Tom Webb, that The Philosopher
can't lose the same race. It is Tom's 'double nap' and I am in a hole
what to do."
As I had never heard before of Dainty Dick, The Philosopher, Tom Webb
or Blackmore, I did not feel in a position to give advice, but I
laughed until I felt quite unwell, and Ward walked about the room
asking violently why I was amused.
"I thought some of your people were ill when I came in here," I said
after some minutes, "and the whole thing turns out to be some gibberish
nonsense about Tom Webb, a tipster, and some rotten horses."
"You are most refreshingly green," Ward replied, and he screwed the
telegrams together and threw them into the fire.
"What are you going to do?" I inquired.
"That's just it, I can't make up my mind. Tom Webb has sent me twelve
stiff 'uns running, and if The Philosopher won and I wasn't on it I
should swear for a month."
"Then," I said wisely, "I think you had better back The Philosopher;
you ought to think a little of your friends."
The only answer I received to my suggestion was that of all the fools
in Oxford I was the most sublime, so I told him that if he backed
either of these horses he would be proving that, at any rate, I was not
absolutely the biggest fool he knew. But he had begun to read racing
guides and calendars, and every now and then made notes upon a piece of
paper, so he treated my retort with contempt.
"I believe," he said, with a pencil between his teeth, "that Dainty
Dick can give The Philosopher about eleven pounds, and he has only to
give him four, so I shall back The Philosopher."
"That doesn't seem very good reasoning," I ventured to remark.
"My opinion's always wrong," he explained, "but I have a thundering
good mind to back both of 'em."
"It seems the quickest way of losing your money," I said.
"Don't be such a confounded ass. I know about some of these stables, a
man is a fool if you like who bets and doesn't know." He shut up his
betting-book with a bang, and I told him the only tale I knew about
racing.
"I have a cousin," I began, "who owned racehorses and all the rest of
it. He lost every penny he had, and a lot more besides. He knew, as
you call it." I did not feel that my tale, though it had the merit of
being true, was a good one.
"It is no use for you to sit there and conjure up tragedies," Ward
replied. "I can't help gambling, it is in my blood; my father is about
the biggest speculator in England. If you want a good tip, buy
Susquehambo Consolidated Rubies."
I was not inclined to buy anything except a fox-terrier pup, and I told
Ward that he would come a most howling cropper if he did not look out.
But I have never yet happened to find the man who was inclined to take
my warnings seriously, and Jack Ward, at any rate, was so naturally
optimistic, that I might have known that he would take no notice
whatever of my advice.
"I shall back both Dainty Dick and The Philosopher," he said, when I
had finished; "come down to Wright's with me, and I will have a fiver
on each of them. I don't get tips like these every day."
He put on his cap and tried to persuade me to go with him, but I was
sick of the man, he seemed to me to be simply throwing his money away;
so I went back to my rooms, and finding that Murray had been to
Armitage's lecture, I borrowed his notes and copied them into my book,
though Murray said, and I thought, that I was wasting my time.
I did not see Ward again until after five o'clock, when he brought an
evening paper and a cheerful countenance into my rooms and told me that
Dainty Dick had won the Flying Welter, and The Philosopher had been
second. "Two pretty good tips, my boy," he said; "nothing but your
obstinacy prevented your being on."
Collier had been having tea with me, and was to all appearances asleep
when Ward came in, but without opening his eyes he said, "Betting is a
mug's game. What price did this brute start at?"
"I don't know until I get the next evening paper, but it is sure to be
a good price; there were twelve runners, and they are sure to have
backed The Philosopher."
"You are a rotter," Collier stated; "if you are going to stay here,
don't talk racing to us. I don't know anything about it and don't want
to."
"I know a real hot thing for the Manchester November Handicap, been
kept for months," Ward said quite cheerfully.
"We don't want to hear it," I said.
"I am thundering well not going to tell you anyway. You two men ought
to be in bed, I am going to find some one who is not half asleep," Ward
answered, and he went away with unnecessary noise.
Both Collier and I had promised to go to Lambert's rooms after dinner
on that evening; he had asked us because he said we ought to have a
talk about the freshers' wine, but we knew well enough that he intended
to twang his wretched banjo and sing little love songs which made the
night hideous. If only he would have sung comic things he might not
have caused such wholesale pain, though I should not like to speak
positively upon that point. I did not go to this entertainment
immediately after dinner, and when I arrived I found the usual gang,
Ward, Dennison and Collier, and one other man who turned out to be
Bunny Langham. Everybody except Collier was playing a game of cards
called "Bank," the chief merit of which is its simplicity. The dealer
puts some money into the pool and deals three cards to each player, who
can bet up to the amount in the pool that one of his cards will beat
the card which the dealer turns up against him. All that seemed to
happen was that Bunny Langham kept on saying, "I'll go the whole
shoot," and then complained violently of his luck. It was no game for
me and I looked to Collier for amusement, but he had got a bottle of
French plums in his lap and was engaged in trying to get them out with
a fork which was too short for the job. The banjo had been put back
into its case, and though it was not amusing to see four men play cards
and Collier over-eating himself, I was content to see the banjo put
away for the night, so I got the most comfortable chair I could grasp
and waited until somebody thought it was time to go to bed. I sat
facing Bunny Langham, and as there was nothing else to do I watched him
losing his money, and I should think he was what is called a very good
loser. He was a most curious-looking man and wore eyeglasses which did
not seem powerful enough, for when he wanted to take any money from the
pool or--which happened more frequently--pay something into it, he took
them off and put up a single eyeglass which he managed with the skill
of one to whom it was a necessity and not an inconvenience. His
complexion was pink and white, and he had a small patch of piebald hair
over his right car, which in some lights looked like a rosette. But in
spite of his odd appearance there was something attractive in his face;
it must, I think, have been either his expression or his forehead, for
it certainly was not his chin, and a nose never looks its best when
shadowed by pince-nez. Dennison was the only winner at the table, and
smiled benignly round him when he was not lighting his pipe. Lambert
threw his money about with a magnificent air more comical than
impressive, and Jack Ward seemed to be the one man whose attention was
riveted on the game. When a remark was made on any subject except bad
luck, Ward broke in asking some one how much they were going to stake
or telling Bunny, who never seemed to know what was going to happen
next, that they were waiting for him. I thought "Bank" must be the
dreariest of all card games, but it was nearly twelve o'clock before
Langham got up and said he must go. When the game was over I asked
Ward how much he had won over Dainty Dick, and at once there was a roar
of laughter.
"He lost over three pounds," Dennison said
"But how did he manage that?" I asked, for my knowledge of racing being
limited I did not understand how he could have backed the winner of
this race and yet lost money.
"Why Dainty Dick started at three to one on, so he only won about
thirty shillings, and he lost a fiver backing The Philosopher. I
thought he had made a fortune by the way he was talking at dinner,"
Dennison answered.
For a moment Ward looked furious, and the exultant way in which
Dennison told me what had happened must have annoyed him tremendously.
I felt that Dennison with his seraphic smile was a much bigger idiot
than Ward, so I said, "Well, I can't see where the joke comes in, I
think it is thundering rough luck," which remark I considered rather
noble, for I did think that Ward had been scored off beautifully, only
Dennison gibing at him was such a sickening sight that I thought I
would put off the few words I meant having with him about Dainty Dick
until we were alone.
After Bunny Langham had gone we began to discuss the freshers' wine,
but Jack Ward looked so down on his luck that I let him arrange what he
liked, though as Collier said to me afterwards, Ward only thought he
was deciding everything while Dennison really managed the whole affair
and simply twisted him round his fingers.
"Dennison is as clever as a wagon load of monkeys," Collier complained,
"he looks like a baby and is as cunning as a Chinaman. I wonder how we
can put up with him."
I wondered, too, and I should think everybody else, except Dennison
himself, found it difficult to explain his popularity. For he was
popular, and since no other reason occurs to me I expect the fact that
he was always ready to play the piano must have helped him, Lambert on
his banjo was enough to depress a crowd of Sunday-school children at
their annual treat, but Dennison played the kind of music which made
Collier, Ward and me, who were not exactly musical, feel that we could
sing quite well. At Cliborough I had established a record by being the
first boy who had tried to get into the school choir and failed, but
the man who made me sing "Ah, ah, ah," until I really could not go on
any longer had told me that I should have a voice some day. Perhaps he
said that out of kindness, but when Dennison played I always remembered
it, and forgot that when I sang in church people sitting in front of me
had been known to look round as if hymns were not made to be sung.
If discussion beforehand helps to make an entertainment successful our
freshers' wine ought to have been a colossal success. For days the
thing seemed to pervade the air and I got horribly tired of it, though
Collier, who had been given rooms which compared with mine were
palatial, had more reason to be sick than I had. Collier had not only
a certain amount of space at his disposal but also a piano, and if
either of us had been any use at guessing we might have known that his
rooms would have been chosen. I may as well say now that if any one of
the freshers who had been invited had also possessed a little sense
Collier's rooms would not have been chosen, but the last thing we
thought of was a row, until we got into one, which is one of the
advantages of being a fresher.
Dennison and Ward finally asked about fifteen men to the wine, and on
the appointed night we met in Collier's rooms. It was perhaps not so
great a privilege to receive an invitation as we thought it was,
because each man who accepted had to pay more than the thing was worth.
However, there was no doubt that it was well done, Ward had been to
Spinney's shop in the Turl and had benefited by Spinney's experience,
and Dennison with the assistance of Collier's scout, and in spite of
Collier's mild protests, had prepared the rooms in a way which made me
wonder where the owner of them was going to sleep.
There was a tradition at St. Cuthbert's, and a tradition seems to me a
very dangerous possession unless carefully watched, that no wine was
complete without a large bowl of milk punch. Ward had been told this
by Spinney, who took what he called a fatherly interest in St.
Cuthbert's, though it must be an exorbitant kind of interest which
makes a man recommend a lot of freshers, or anybody else, to mix punch
with champagne and port. Spinney had also provided a terrific amount
of fruit and other things, and if Collier's room had only been big
enough to provide space for all of us and for what we were expected to
eat and drink, I think our wine at the start would have been a most
imposing display. As it was everybody thought it had been done well
except Collier, who told me to look in his bedroom. I looked without
seeing the bed, which was so piled up with superfluities that they
nearly touched the ceiling.
"When this orgie is over," Collier said, "every one will have forgotten
that I have to go to bed to-night."
"I will stay and help you," I answered, for I was in the mood when
anything seems to be possible.
We went back into the "sitter," where everybody was already beginning
to eat and, I suppose, to enjoy themselves. There were not enough
chairs to go round, but there is always the floor, and a man who won't
sit on the floor when there is nothing else to sit upon is no use at an
Oxford wine. Some men even prefer the floor, but that usually happens
later on in the evening. Ward began the musical part of the
entertainment by singing "John Peel," his voice was admirable, because
it was loud without being very good, and nobody had the discomfort of
wondering whether they could sing well enough to join in the chorus. I
like a place where you can fairly bellow without hearing your own
voice. A man called Webb, who had a mole on his forehead and had been
at Cliborough with me, sang the next song, but it was a sentimental
thing, and had a chorus with some high notes in it, an unsuitable
choice which fell flat, and when it was over Webb sat down by me in
disgust, and helped himself lavishly to punch by way of consolation. I
told Webb that he had taken Lambert's seat, because Lambert for some
other reason had also been helping himself lavishly to punch, and had
become argumentative and almost quarrelsome. Webb, however, said that
he was not going to move, and when Lambert returned Dennison had to
play the piano very lustily to drown the discussion which took place.
Lambert was six feet two and angry, Webb was the same height and
obstinate, both of them had been drinking punch, and if Ward had not
intervened by asking Lambert to sing, I believe an unexpected item
would have formed part of our programme. Lambert sang, or rather tried
to sing, and broke down several times; no one minded and he received
tremendous encouragement to go on, but he fancied himself as a singer
and at last became very indignant and abusive. He was then given
champagne to soothe him, and sat on the floor with a very sad
expression, and his legs stretched out in front of him. Collier threw
a fig at him which he caught and threw back, hitting another man on the
cheek, figs began to fly about the room until Ward begged everybody not
to make a horrible rag before we had properly begun. Collier went
round on his hands and knees collecting figs and calling himself a fool
for spoiling his own carpet. Most people gave him a shove with their
feet when he came near them, which sent him on to his back and
prevented his collection from being a good one.
Then Dennison began to play "The Gondoliers," which was the popular
comic opera of the day. Solos were dispensed with, and each chorus was
sung many times. The wine was evidently a huge success, the noise was
magnificent, and everybody was reasonably peaceful. No one noticed
that Lambert and Webb were now sitting side by side on the floor,
swearing eternal friendship and requiring champagne in which to pledge
each other, until Webb got hold of the idea that he was Leander trying
to swim the Hellespont, and Collier poured a jug of water over his head
so that he might make the scene more realistic.
One or two men went quietly away, saying that it was getting late. The
music stopped for a moment, while Dennison walked about the room
seeking refreshment and finding very little. The noise subsided so
much that a knock was heard, and a scout poked his head into the room
and spoke to Dennison who was standing by the door. Every one asked
what he wanted, and Dennison assured us that it did not matter, which
we were all inclined to believe with the exception of Ward, who went to
the piano and began the National Anthem. It was the only tune he could
play, and he had to take infinite pains to get the right notes, so he
was forcibly removed, and Dennison installed in his place. "The
Gondoliers" and the noise began again, while Ward, protesting that it
was time we went away, was disregarded entirely. From sheer distaste
for punch and only a very limited taste for wine I had not been seeking
my enjoyment in drinking, but I had smoked far more than was good for
me, and my head felt as large as a pumpkin. It occurred to me,
however, that if Ward wished our entertainment to close he was sure to
be right, so I pulled over Dennison backwards from the piano. That
caused a very fair hubbub and did not do much good, since everybody
began to sing what they liked, without music.
Ward went round persuading men to go, until Lambert, Webb, Collier,
Ward, Dennison and I were the only ones remaining. Collier was heavy
with sleep, but Lambert and Webb, who still sat on the floor with their
backs propped up against a sofa, were full of song. Dennison sulked in
a corner; he told me afterwards that I had hurt his head. Ward and I
by violent efforts got Lambert and Webb upon their legs and propped
them up against each other. They stood singing, "For he's a jolly good
fellow," and looking extraordinarily foolish. At last we got them to
the door and shoved them out, but unfortunately the Sub-Warden, who had
a habit of being in the wrong place, was standing outside the room, and
Lambert, who most certainly looked upon him as an old friend, put an
arm round him, and hurried him at break-neck speed down the stairs.
Webb followed, and when I got into the quadrangle he was on one side of
the Subby and Lambert on the other.
They were persuading him to dance. I tried to seize Lambert, while
Ward went for Webb; but as I did so they suddenly released their man,
and instead of grabbing Lambert I got my arm entangled in the Subby's.
I let it go quickly, but he recognized me, and said something about a
disgraceful occurrence. It would have been giving Lambert and Webb
away to tell him that I was acting the part of rescuer, so I stood
looking at him, while Ward drove the other two men out of the
quadrangle. As he did not say anything I expressed a hope that he was
not hurt, but it was more from a wish to prove myself sober than from
any anxiety as to his condition that I made the remark. I thought he
understood this, for he neither answered nor wished me good-night when
he went back to his staircase. I was afraid he had been considerably
jolted and was not quite himself. I turned round after watching him
out of sight, and found Murray standing by my side.
"You had better come to bed," he said, and his tone suggested that I
was incapable of looking after myself, so I told him that I was as
sober as a judge.
"I waited up for you," he said.
"To see if you could be of any use, I suppose," I asked ungraciously.
"And when Lambert and Webb began to shout the back quad down, I came
out to see what had happened. What were you talking to the Subby
about?"
"Our arms got interlocked," I replied, as we walked over to our
staircase. "The fact is the Subby ought to go to bed in decent time."
"He could hardly be expected to sleep with a wine going on in the rooms
below him."
"I forgot all about that."
"And so apparently did everybody else who was there, though I should
have thought the scout would have warned Collier."
"Dennison managed the whole thing, I said, and you can thank your stars
you can go to bed without the prospect of a row and a thundering
headache."
Then I went into my room and sported my oak, for the rumblings of
Lambert and Webb could still be heard in the quadrangle.