THE INN AT SAMPFORD
I do not suppose that my waking thoughts could be called valuable, for
my habit is to lie in bed and wonder vaguely what time it is, and if
you start the day in that way and write it solemnly on paper you may
just as well keep a diary of what you had for luncheon and where you
had tea and all that kind of twaddle, which people write because
blotting paper is provided on the opposite page. But on the morning
following my conversation with Ward I woke up with the sort of feeling
which ought to have been of value to some one, because it was such a
mixture that I could not stay in bed. It was the kind of sensation
with which I wake when I am going to cross the Channel, only it did not
make me rush to my window to see how much wind there was. Nothing I
have been told is easier in this life than to make a mountain out of a
molehill, but in my short experience it is the wretched little
molehills which upset me and not the great big things which sweep me
away with them. I would rather have to fight one mountain than two
molehills any day, you get so much more sympathy after the struggle.
But I must admit that it is not always easy to tell when people will
sympathize with you, for I remember that my brother was once in a
railway accident, and though he got nothing more than a slight jolt he
was considered a hero for a long time, while, a few days later, I sat
upon a pin and hurt myself quite badly, but was told by my nurse not to
be silly.
During that morning I had a most disagreeable experience. For the
first time in my life I was conscious that I had done something for
which there was not the least shadow of an excuse, and I found myself
trying to guess what my feelings would have been had I been a winner
instead of a loser at roulette. There is nothing very profitable in
trying to imagine what would have happened if things had turned out
differently, at the best it is a waste of time, but all the same it is
a game which I, and others I know, play very often. I came to the
conclusion that had I won I should have been rather pleased with
myself, it is so easy to excuse oneself for winning money, while losing
it seems to be foolishly immoral. I made no resolutions for the
future, because on the few occasions I have tried to fortify myself in
that way, something has occurred to upset me, and Mr. Sandyman, who was
my housemaster at Cliborough and very wise, told me once that the
weaker the man the more frequent his resolutions. He did not believe
so much in pledges and promises as in a boy's honour; if a boy had not
a sense of honour no promise on earth could be of any real use to him.
I wished that I had Mr. Sandyman to advise me, but if I had been able
to go to him I do not suppose I should have gone, for although I was
ashamed of myself, I did not think that I had committed any great
offence. I had just been a fool, and with that decision from which,
odd as it may seem, I derived great satisfaction, I passed on to the
next thing which was bothering me.
I think it was Solomon who said there was safety in a multitude of
counsellors, and I wonder what he would have said about a multitude of
friends, some of whom could not bear the sight of the others. Ward,
hated Murray, and Foster hated Ward, Collier said he hated Dennison,
and Dennison said Collier looked more like a pig than a human being.
Lambert confided to me that there was hardly a man at St. Cuthbert's
whom he would care to introduce to his sister, but as he said the same
thing to Ward, Dennison and Collier, leaving each of them with the
impression that he was the one man who was considered worthy of an
introduction, it was no use to take any notice of Lambert. I condoled
with him on having such a remarkably exclusive sister, but he did not
take my sympathy in the proper spirit.
My friends were most certainly getting out of hand. In St. Cuthbert's,
Murray was the most sensible of the lot, because he enjoyed himself in
a steady sort of way, saw the humorous side of everything and went to
bed in decent time. I knew just where I was with Murray, he was always
glad to see me in his rooms, and he kept his opinions about Ward and
Dennison to himself, unless I simply pumped them out of him. No one
who did not object to fat men because they were fat could help liking
Collier, he was so comfortable and peaceful, and Lambert, with his
magnificent opinion of himself, which he expressed frequently in a
half-comical, half-serious fashion, was to me more like a man on the
stage than an ordinary undergraduate. From morning to night Lambert
was self-conscious, even at the wine, when he was sitting on the floor
with Webb, he did not forget to shoot down his cuffs. I have already
said that Dennison played the piano, he was also considered a wit, and
fired off things which Lambert said were epigrams, but Collier, who was
full of curious information, declared that most of them were adapted
from the Book of Proverbs. However that may be, Dennison had a
reputation as a conversationalist, which meant that he wanted to talk
all the time. He bored me terribly.
But the man who really worried me was Ward. At first I had thought
that he merely wanted to amuse himself, and did not care what he did as
long as he got some fun out of it. He did not seem to trouble what men
he knew if they were useful to him, and having come to that conclusion
about him, I felt that as far as he and I were concerned there was
nothing else to bother about. It was not any wonder to me that Foster,
who only knew him slightly, disliked him most vigorously, but when Ward
came, asking me to take my money back and showing all the best side of
his nature, he gave me more to think about than I wanted. An entirely
different man had appeared, acknowledging himself a gambler, and not
pretending to be sorry--for which I liked him--but with qualities which
I had never suspected.
So occupied was I in wondering how I could persuade Foster to change
his opinion of Ward that I forgot the day was Sunday, and that I had
intended to go to morning chapel and write some letters at the Union.
It was nearly twelve o'clock when Foster came into my rooms and said he
had been waiting for me at Oriel until he was tired of doing nothing.
He seemed to be rather angry, but soon cooled down when he saw me
hurrying up to get ready, and even proposed that we should give up our
walk and just lounge round the Parks. But I did not feel as if
lounging would do for me, and I told him that I knew a splendid little
inn about six miles off, where we could get luncheon. He did not need
much persuasion, and we went down Brasenose lane and the High as if we
had never lounged in our lives. But before we got to the turning to
Iffley we had begun to walk at a speed which did not altogether prevent
conversation.
I think I must have been setting the pace, because I had a great deal
to say to Fred, and did not know exactly how to begin. He was the
greatest friend I had, and I wanted him to like Ward, but I knew that
when once he had made up his mind about people he very seldom changed
it. He had liked nearly everybody at Cliborough, but when he disliked
anybody there was something rather huge in the way he had nothing to do
with them. And he had a habit, which would have annoyed me in any one
else, of being nearly always right. It was such a complete change for
him to come from Cliborough, where he was easily the most important boy
in the school, to Oxford, where he was practically nobody at all, that
I wondered how he would like it. So many freshers who have been
important at school think they can bring their importance with them,
but they make the very greatest mistake. A fresher who thinks a lot of
himself, and lets other men know that he does, is not likely to do
anything but get in his own way. Foster never had put on any side, but
he had been accustomed to manage things at Cliborough, and I asked him
how he liked being nobody again, as he had been when he first went to
school.
He did not answer me at once, and I had a suspicion that he did not
care about the change, but I was wrong.
"I like it," he said at last; "there is no bother and fuss, and I like
beginning again and being sworn at when I miss the ball. I want to get
my blue most awfully, but I don't suppose I have got the ghost of a
chance; I never pass at the right time, and everybody here seems to me
to be always off-side."
I assured him that he must have a chance for his blue or he would not
have played so often.
"They look more and more sick with me every time," he answered, "and
each match I play in I expect to be the last. The only thing which
riles me is that you never know what they think about you, and the
fellow who writes the Oxford notes for _The Globe_ said last week that
the 'Varsity XV. must be badly off if they could not find a better
three-quarter than the Cliborough fresher, or some rot of that kind.
All the men at Oriel who know about things are either cricket or soccer
blues, so I don't hear much about rugger there, though every one is
nice enough and wants me to get into the XV."
"Doesn't Adamson ever speak to you?" I asked, for he was captain of the
'Varsity XV.
"Yes, but it is generally to tell me not to do something. He is an
'internatter,' you see, and I don't think he ever forgets it, he seems
to me to stick on more side than any one I have ever met. Most of the
men are all right, but Adamson is a first-class bounder."
"He swore at me pretty freely in the Freshers' match," I said.
"I heard him," Foster returned, "but although you played abominably
then, you are really much better than Sykes of Merton, who has been
playing back for the 'Varsity lately. He does the most awful things."
"He can't be worse than I am. I now play three-quarters and am
thinking of chucking the game altogether. It is such a horrid grind."
"Don't be an idiot, they are bound to spot you here sooner or later,"
Foster said, but he knew as well as I did that I could never stop
playing any game just because it was too much trouble.
"I have made an idiot of myself, already," I replied; and then I told
him all that had been happening at St. Cuthbert's during the last few
days. I made out myself a bigger fool than I really had been, because
I wanted to show him that Ward was a much better fellow than he thought.
"You have a real gift for getting into rows," he said, when I had
finished; "you seem to have got all the dons on your track already."
"That doesn't worry me," I answered. "I have only got to work and keep
quiet, and the Subby will think I am as like a machine as he is."
"And you have made up your mind to work?"
"I mean to do a reasonable amount," I replied cautiously.
"It is most awfully difficult to work. I have done precious little,
and I went fast asleep at a lecture the other morning."
"What was it about?"
"Logic."
"Oh, that's nothing," I assured him. "I started cutting my logic
lectures altogether until I got dropped on. I didn't understand a word
the man was saying. There is heaps of time to work, Mods are nearly a
year and a half off. What do you think of Ward, after the thing that
happened last night?"
I had to plunge right at it, for Foster had not said a word after I had
told him Ward wanted to give me back my money.
"Don't let us talk about Ward," Foster answered, "you know I don't like
him."
"I knew you didn't like him," I corrected, for I thought that what I
had said ought to make a difference.
"You seem to be egging me on to swear at you, so that you may laugh."
"Oh, skittles," I exclaimed.
"You know perfectly well that you can't afford to gamble."
"That has nothing to do with it, because I am not going to gamble, Jack
Ward himself asked me not to play roulette."
"But Ward belongs to a gambling set----"
"I suppose he can please himself about that," I retorted, and it was
not altogether wise of me.
"And you will always be hearing racing 'shop,' and how much somebody
won, nobody ever talks about their losses until they are stone-broke."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Your father told me," was the answer, and instead of having got him
into a hole I was badly scored off.
"Everybody has something nasty in him somewhere, Balzac said so, and he
was the sort of chap who knew; if we were all perfect this wouldn't be
earth," I said.
"By Jove, you have been thinking a lot," Foster replied, and he stood
still in the road and laughed until I was very annoyed, for I have
heard other people make remarks of that kind without any one else
smiling.
"It is no use talking seriously to you," I said.
"Platitudes are not your line," he answered, and we were as far off
settling about Ward as ever. I returned, however, to the main question
with energy, for it seemed to me to be most important that these two
men should not hate each other, if they were to be my friends. The
gods did not endow me with tact, but they gave me so much courage that
in a short time I can make any situation either very much better or
very much worse. My mother once took in a paper which contained a Tact
Problem every week, and she asked my sister and me to write down
solutions and see if they were right; mine were wrong five times
consecutively, so I gave up that competition, though in a negative sort
of way I should have been of assistance to any competitor. I remember
one of these wonderful problems was, 'At an evening party A tells B
that C looks like a criminal. Shortly afterwards A finds out that C is
B's husband, what ought A to do?' I said A ought to go and tell B that
he liked criminals; but the answer was, 'A should do nothing.' I think
it was that problem which persuaded me that I was wasting my time, I
thought it too stupid for words.
I explained to Foster how difficult it would be for me if he would not
change his opinion of Ward, and I talked so much that he said I had
persuaded him that Ward was all right, but I had a kind of feeling that
he said it for the sake of peace. The day was very warm for November,
and at the end of six miles Foster was not so inclined to resist my
avalanche of words as he was when we left Oxford. But I knew that
having once said he would try to be friends with Ward, I could rely
upon him. What he could not understand was the reason why I was so
anxious for him to try, why in short I liked Ward, but I could not
explain that; for if you once start explaining why you are friends with
a man it seems to me to be half-way towards making excuses for
yourself, and should you begin doing that you had better not have any
friends, since those who know you the best will like you the least. I
have a faculty for liking a large number of people, but if I had to
give reasons why I liked most of them I should be terribly puzzled.
You cannot, it seems to me, reduce friendship to a formula, or if you
can you would knock all the fun out of it.
This was my second visit to the little inn at Sampford, and as soon as
we got there I interviewed the landlord and engaged the sitting-room on
the ground floor. Foster threw himself upon the sofa and picked up the
book in which visitors write their names and exercise their humour, but
I was so hot that I opened the French windows which led into the garden
and went out. Only a fortnight before the garden had been full enough
of flowers to satisfy me, but the wind and rain had beaten down
everything, and in spite of the sun it looked bare and desolate. I
walked across the lawn to a little arbour and surprised two belated
beanfeasters and their ladies. In appearance the men were aggressive,
their hats were on the backs of their heads, and enormous
chrysanthemums bulged from their buttonholes, and must, I should think,
have been a source of constant irritation to their chins. The girls
giggled when they saw me, and one of the men asked me what I wanted. I
told him I was looking for a comfortable place in which to sit down and
that he seemed to have found it first. The girls giggled again and the
men swore; it was a most commonplace scene. I went back across the
lawn and was just going to join Foster, when I heard a tremendous burst
of laughter from the room above ours. There was only one man who could
laugh like that and he was Jack Ward. At that moment I wished him
anywhere, for I guessed quite rightly that he had driven over to
Sampford with some men whose luncheon would not consist of cold beef
and beer.
I hoped to goodness we should get away without Foster seeing them, so I
began to eat without saying anything, except that there was a most vile
noise up-stairs. I need not have troubled to say so much since Foster
was not deaf. I ate my luncheon hurriedly and gulped down my beer so
fast that something went wrong with my wind-pipe. To the accompaniment
of my coughs and peals of laughter from the room above, Fred sat eating
with a comical expression of misery upon his face.
"Rowdy brutes," he said, and pointed to the ceiling.
I tried to answer, but failed.
"I should think they will get kicked out in a minute," he continued.
"Aren't you going to have any pickles?"
"The room's so horribly stuffy," I managed to say; "I vote we go when
you are ready."
"We've only just come. I haven't nearly done yet, and I am going to
have a smoke when I've finished."
I resigned myself to the situation and seized the pickles; there was
only one left and that was an onion. The noise increased and a huge
piece of bread fell on the lawn in front of our window.
"Bloods always throw bread at each other, don't they?" he asked.
"I don't suppose they are any worse than anybody else," I answered;
"there is not much harm in a bread pellet."
"That thing out there is half a loaf," he returned, "and at any rate
they make a fairly bad row," which were statements I could not deny.
We heard a man go heavily up-stairs and knock at the door. He was
received with clamorous approval, but after a little conversation the
noise ceased and there was a most refreshing calm. I had hopes that
nothing more was going to happen, so I sat down by the fire and lit a
cigarette. For ten minutes Fred and I were not interrupted, but I had
already recognized the voices of Bunny Langham and Dennison, and I
might have guessed that there was not likely to be much peace. Our
windows were wide open, and presently I began to hear a kind of choked
laughter going on at the window above. What was happening I did not
know, but I suspected that some fresh game had begun and I wanted very
much to know what it was. I did not, however, wish them to see me nor
was I anxious for Fred to see them, so I suggested that we should start
back to Oxford. Fred agreed to this, and getting up from his chair he
walked out into the garden. No sooner was he on the lawn than I saw
him jump like a hare and put his hand up to his neck. At the same
moment the beanfeasters rushed out of their arbour and fairly went for
him. While this happened I was standing at the window wondering how I
could persuade him to come back into the room, but as soon as I saw
these two aggressive-looking men, not to mention their ladies, talking
to him in most bellicose language, I went out. One of them at once
caught hold of me by the coat and spoke so fast and strangely that I
did not altogether understand what he was saying. He mentioned the
name of Susan a great many times, and when he had finished tugging at
my coat I asked him if there was anything the matter with the lady.
"Look at 'er," he said; "just look at 'er. I'm a respectable married
man, married, last Thursday as ever was, and I'll 'ave compensation for
this as sure as my name's Tom 'Arrison."
I did not want to hear any more of his autobiography, so I looked at
the lady pointed out as Susan. I couldn't see much of her face because
she had her hand over it, but I did not think they were an ill-assorted
couple.
"Has she been stung by a wasp?" I asked. "A blue-bag----"
"Look 'ere," the man interrupted and caught me again by the coat, "none
of your bloomin' innocence. You spied us out in that 'ere arbour, and
'ave been peppering us with peas for the last ever so long, and one of
you 'as 'it Susan sock in the eye. Enough to make 'er an object for a
fortnight, and us newly married. Where, I should like to know, do I
come in?" and I had great difficulty in wriggling his hand away from my
coat. The man made me angry, and I told him I hadn't the least notion
where he came in, but if he thought we were big enough babies to use
peashooters he was jolly well mistaken. I looked round at Foster and
found that he was being talked at by the remaining couple, who also
looked as if they were newly married. I heard the word Bella, and saw
the lady so called endeavouring to draw Foster's attention to a mark on
her arm. Susan stood in the middle of the lawn and wept; I felt quite
sorry for her, but the other three were really an intolerable nuisance.
Tom Harrison declared it was worth two pounds any day, that Susan's
beauty was spoilt, and that everybody would say they had been fighting
already. I smiled when he said "already," and for a moment I thought
he was going to hit me. He thought better of it, however, and I
concluded that if he had intended to fight he would have begun then, so
I turned my back upon him and looked at the window up-stairs. There
was not a sound coming from the room, and as I turned again to attend
to Harrison I heard hoots of laughter, and a dog-cart passed along the
road which skirted the garden. As it went by I saw Jack Ward stand up
on the back of the cart and look over the hedge. When he saw what was
happening he leant forward to speak to Bunny Langham, who was driving,
and as they passed out of sight I thought that he was trying to get
hold of the reins.
The men went on talking; Susan wept steadily, and Bella said her arm
was visibly swelling, and that she must have been hit by something far
more dangerous than a pea. They were not by any means interesting and
I was glad to see the landlord coming from the house to join us. He
created the diversion of which we were badly in need, and Tom Harrison
became more eloquent than ever. But the landlord, as soon as he could
make himself heard, was most thoroughly on the side of peace; he
flourished his arms and declared, until I was weary, that a mistake had
been made. "These are not the gentlemen who shot at you. Do they look
like gentlemen who would use pea-shooters?" I did not know what a man
ought to look like who would not use a peashooter, but I did my best.
"These are two nice quiet gentlemen," he went on; "took their food
quite quiet."
"And haven't paid for it yet," I interrupted; "how much is it?"
"That will be a matter of half-a-crown each," he said, and I paid him.
In the meantime Bella, who ought to have been watched, had walked into
our sitting-room and found the visitors' book. She returned
triumphantly. "I know one of their names, and that will be a deal more
use than standing jawing here," she shouted.
I looked at Foster inquiringly. "I bought a blessed fountain pen
yesterday and wanted to see if the thing would work," he explained; "it
seems to have worked too well."
"'F. L. Foster, Oriel College, Oxford,' in writing as easy to read as
the newspaper. Which of you two is it that writes just like me?"
Foster solemnly took off his hat.
"Then you, I guess, will 'ear more of this," Tom Harrison declared;
"for the tale that it ain't you is a little too 'ot for us, isn't it?"
Susan stopped wiping her eyes and joined in a chorus of assent.
"I don't know what you expect to get," Foster said.
"You needn't bother about that. We know," Tom Harrison replied.
After a little more conversation we started on our way back to Oxford,
and as we left the garden I heard Tom Harrison say, "Two beers and two
bottles of stout as quick as we can 'ave em; my throat's like a
limekiln." And considering the amount he had said at the top of his
voice, I should think it was very likely true.