A SURPRISE
When I left my rooms to walk with the Warden, I imagined that every one
I met was laughing at me, and being intensely on the alert for insults,
I was very displeased with the butler when he came to the door, and
surveyed me. "What can you want with the Warden?" was written plainly
over his face. I have never met a man who could be more gravely
condescending than the Warden's butler, and I know several first-class
cricketers, two headmasters, a popular novelist, and a rising
politician aged twenty-four. I should have enjoyed telling that man
what I thought of him, but a doorstep is a poor place for an
altercation, unless it is with a cabman, and I saw the Warden advancing
upon me clad in a cloak, and carrying a most useful umbrella, which
must have been rolled up by himself.
The appearance of the Warden might have surprised any one, but it could
have impressed nobody. You had to know that he was a Warden, and wrote
books about religion and philosophy, before you could feel afraid of
him. If he was a precisian in the choice of words, he certainly was
not one in the matter of dress.
"I think," he said, with just a glance at me to see if I was the right
man, "that we will enter the Parks by the gates opposite to Keble
College; we shall be more or less interrupted by the noisy, if
necessary, shouts of football players, but we shall escape the
authoritative note of the bicycle bell."
There wasn't much that I could say in answer to this, so I walked down
the Broad in silence, and tried in vain to keep step with my companion.
Before we had reached Wadham his shuffle had got upon my nerves, and I
wished furiously that he would say something to me. He seemed to have
tucked his head into his neck, and to have retired into the world of
contemplation. As we entered the Parks I was seized with a wild desire
to run away. I had not uttered a word, and I had arrived at a state of
mind which prompted me to give a terrific yell, just to see what would
happen next. When I feel like that I must speak at least, so I said
that it looked as if it might rain. It is not likely that I should
have made such a remark if I could have thought of any other, and it
had the merit of not being startling and also of being true. But if I
had given the yell which I wished to give, I could not have produced a
greater effect upon the Warden. I think that he had forgotten my
existence, and for a moment he could not remember why I was with him.
He poked his head forward, and looked at me until I regretted my effort
at conversation, and was dreadfully afraid I should have to repeat it;
a remark about the weather in some way or other seems to lose all its
sparkle when it is repeated.
The Warden, however, had heard what I said, and when he had detached
himself from whatever he was thinking about, he answered me.
"I am not one of those who pretend to any extraordinary knowledge of
weather symptoms," he began, and he stood in the middle of the path,
while a gardener leant on his spade and watched us; "indeed, I have
often noticed that those who make the greatest pretensions of that kind
are themselves most frequently mistaken. In fact, my friend Dr.
Marshall, who wrote the meteorological reports for _The Times_
newspaper, was frequently himself in doubt whether or no to take out an
umbrella for a walk."
I did not venture to interrupt him again for some time, and my next
outbreak was quite unpremeditated. We were passing a college rugger
match, and a pass which was palpably forward escaped the notice of the
referee. I joined in the cry of "forward" which was raised, and the
Warden stopped once more and actually smiled. On this occasion I had
forgotten all about him, and my shout probably surprised him as much as
me.
"I am sorry," I said to him, "but I really couldn't help it."
"There is no occasion to express or even to feel regret," he answered,
and his eyes twinkled delightfully; "if youth lost its spontaneity it
would at one and the same moment lose its charm. Did your cry refer to
this?" He pointed with his umbrella to a scrimmage which was taking
place a few yards away from us.
"Some one threw the ball forward, which he is not allowed to do," I
explained, and a man was hurled into touch close to the spot where we
were standing.
"The game of football which I believe bears the honoured name of Rugby
appeals, or it seems to me to appeal, to the more violent of the
emotions. Do you play this game, which strikes the eye of the
observant, but not initiated, as the relic of an age in which brute
force rather than science was the aim of the athlete?"
He walked on as he finished speaking, and I told him that I played
Rugby football and liked it. "I like nearly every game," I added.
He glanced at me quickly, and after we had walked a little way he began
again.
"The excellent Lord Chesterfield in his _Letters_ stated that it was
very disagreeable to seem reserved, and very dangerous not to be so;
most of my young friends impress me with the fact that they have
learned that maxim too well. But you on the contrary----" He waved his
umbrella and did not finish the sentence.
"There is no harm in liking games," I answered; "if I did not take
heaps of exercise I should never be well, or able to read."
"Heaps of exercise," he repeated, and looked oddly at me.
"I mean a fearful lot of exercise," I explained.
"You did not quote 'Mens sana in corpore sano,' for which I have to
thank you, even if your use of the English language affords reasonable
grounds for protest. Heaps of mud, heaps of rubbish, but not, I think,
heaps of exercise."
"Heaps of money," I ventured to suggest, but he shook his head sadly.
"We were talking of athletics," he said, "which represent to me the
most sweeping epidemic of the century. Do not let athletics spread
their deadly, if in one sense empurpling, pall over your University
life. Oxford has many gifts for those who are willing to receive them;
do not, my friend, be content with the least which she can give. The
maxim of Mr. Browning, that the grasp of a man should exceed his reach,
if not an ennobling maxim, must not be forgotten entirely."
I walked by his side in silence, for I knew that the Warden did not
often give advice to an undergraduate. His language even seemed to
have become less carefully chosen, and I felt that he intended to be
not only human but kind, for there was no special reason why he should
talk to me unless he wished.
He did not speak again until we reached St. Cuthbert's, but when we had
reached the back quadrangle he stopped, and after poking the ground
with his umbrella, said--
"I would do nothing willingly to lessen your enthusiasm, you have, I
believe, been endowed liberally with that most exhilarating virtue; I
would only suggest to you that your enthusiasm need not of necessity be
expended solely upon athletics. I hope that we shall be able to enjoy
very many walks together."
I thrust out my hand, but he hesitated; I forgot that I had nearly made
him shout with pain a few weeks before, but he, as far as I know, never
forgot anything. He trusted me, however, and I treated him very gently.
As soon as the Warden had disappeared into his house I heard a bellow
of derisive laughter at a window above me, and looking up I saw
Dennison standing there; but at that moment I hated him even more than
I did usually, and I walked off to see Jack Ward without even saying
what I thought of him.
Jack was having a bath when I got to his rooms, and while he was
dressing he told me how he had been spending the afternoon. I never
knew what he might do next--he flew off at tangents so often--but I was
surprised to hear how he had been employing himself.
"Perhaps you will think me a fool," he began, "but that Tom Harrison
affair gave me the jumps, and I couldn't wait to see if Foster was
going to be tackled. So I rode over to Sampford, and the man said that
Harrison lived in a village a few miles off. I had lunch at Sampford
and then went on, and, to cut it short, the whole thing is settled."
"You paid?"
"Not very much; and Tom said I was the first gentleman he had ever
known come from Oxford--you must pay for a remark like that. He
described us as 'bloomin' 'aughty,' and 'not enough brass to buy a
moke.' Do you know that you are playing for the 'Varsity on Saturday
against Blackheath? I want to go up to town, so I shall come and see
you play."
I thought that he was trying to prevent me from thanking him, and I did
not really believe that I was going to play until he took his oath that
I was. Then we had tea, and I thanked him; for if there is one thing
in the world of which I will not be baulked it is thanking people. I
hate doing it so much, that it has got to be done. Jack, however, did
not pretend to listen to what I said, and after I had finished we
talked about Dennison; both of us were sick to death of him, but when
you are always meeting a man in other people's rooms, and he won't see
that you don't like him, it is not very easy to get rid of him; for
when you are a fresher you can't choose your friends so easily as you
can when your first year is over.
After dinner Fred came round to tell me that we were both playing
against Blackheath, and as Jack came in as well, I said that I would
get another man to play whist. I went to Murray, because I was most
anxious that he should be friends with Jack; but I did not tell him
that Jack was one of the four, or I am sure that he would not have
come. I liked both Murray and Jack, and I thought that when I got them
together each would see what a nice man the other was, for I was again
in the mood when everything seems to be easy. But I cannot say that my
efforts were successful; their politeness knocked every spark of
cheeriness out of the game, and we played in dreadful silence, which
may be all right for very good players, but it does not suit me in the
least.
When Murray looked at his watch and said that he must be going, I felt
quite relieved, and I decided then that I would stop trying to make
Murray and Jack like each other, for the process was too painful and
slow for me.
After he had gone I told Foster what Ward had been doing, and it was
really quite funny to see how confused they were. Fred said how good
it was of Ward to have taken so much bother about nothing, which was
not quite what he meant, but it did very well; and Ward mumbled
something in reply, which neither of us could hear. Altogether they
managed it most successfully, and when Fred went away Ward said that he
would see him to the lodge. I found out afterwards that he stopped me
going with Fred, so that he might tell him nothing would have happened
if he had not seen Tom Harrison; he was the kind of man who never tried
to get more credit than he deserved, unless it was from Oxford
tradesmen.
Playing against Blackheath on the Rectory field before a large crowd of
people was good fun, and at the end of the game I thought that I had
managed to escape without making a very pitiable exhibition of myself.
But on the following Monday the sporting papers criticized me most
unpleasantly. "Marten was obviously nervous, and did not seem to
settle down until the game was lost." "As full-back Marten had much to
learn; his tackling was good, but his kicking left much to be desired,
and he seldom found touch." I turned from _The Sportsman_ and
_Sporting Life_ to _The Daily Telegraph_, and found that I had shown
"more pluck than judgment."
I felt that Sykes of Merton must be having an enjoyable morning, and
even the fact that the critics unanimously praised Foster was of little
assistance to me. My chance had come, and I had not taken it; there
could not have been a more miserable man in Oxford, and for a whole
solid week I never cut a lecture or did anything of which even Mr.
Edwardes could disapprove.
Sykes reappeared in the 'Varsity team, and Foster declared that the
whole thing was a swindle; but he was more prejudiced in my favour than
I was myself. The last match of the term at Oxford, and the one
previous to the 'Varsity match, was against the Old Cliburians, and the
O. C.s having had a disastrous season Adamson, who always played centre
three-quarters with Foster, did not play, but put a man from Queen's in
his place. This man, whose name was Pott, had been laid up all the
term, and two or three people said it was lucky for Foster that Pott
had not been able to play before. I played back for the O. C.s, and
the game was enough to make any Cambridge man who saw it stand on his
head with delight. The 'Varsity could do nothing right; the passing
broke down time after time, and the forwards got impatient and kicked
too hard. I thought Foster was the one man on the side who played
decently, but five minutes before the end, when we were leading by a
goal to nothing, Pott made a very good run and got a try in the corner.
It seemed to me that this was the only thing he did during the whole
game, and it was my fault that he got the try, for I went for him a
second too late and he fell over the line, but the place-kick went
crooked, and we won by a goal to a try.
Adamson, who was touch-judging, said what he thought about the 'Varsity
team, and he could be the most uncomplimentary man in Europe when he
liked. His temper was awful, and it did not seem to be improved by the
use of expletives. This game was played on a Saturday, and on the
following Wednesday week we had to play the 'Varsity match at Queen's
Club. The Cambridge team was published in the papers on the Monday,
but some one told me that our committee were not meeting until the
Monday evening. This did not interest me much, for apart from wanting
to see that Fred had got his blue, and I thought he was a certainty, I
did not mind who else was chosen. Sykes had played better against the
O. C.s than he had ever done before, and even Fred said that he was
afraid my chance had gone for this year.
After dinner on Monday evening I was sitting in my rooms with Murray,
and although it was not nine o'clock, I was wondering how soon I could
go to bed, when Ward suddenly burst in, fairly bubbling over with
excitement. He turned me right out of my chair, and hitting me
violently on the back, said he had never been so awfully glad in all
his life. My first impression was that he had been made glad by wine,
and I told him to clear out if he could not behave himself, which made
him catch hold of me and dance me round the room. By the time we had
finished I found that Dennison, Collier, Lambert, Webb and a host of
other people had come to my rooms, and at last I discovered that I had
got my blue. For a moment I did not believe it, but I managed to push
Ward into a corner, and told him I would never speak to him again if it
was not true. Then he swore that he had seen the names of the XV. to
play against Cambridge stuck up in the window of Howell's shop in the
Turl, and the first name he saw was G. Marten (St. Cuthbert's), back.
"And Foster, of course?" I said.
Then Jack Ward's face fell. "No, they've gone mad," he answered; "it's
that man Potts, of Queen's."
Men buzzed about congratulating me, and one part of me felt most
tremendously glad, and the other part most outrageously sorry. I said
a lot of things about the committee, and everybody except Ward and
Murray thought I had gone mad. The college clock struck nine, and old
Tom's nightly warning began to sound over the city. I seized a cap and
bolted down-stairs, leaving my rooms full of astonished men. But Fred
Foster was the only man I wanted to see, and by making a tremendous
rush for Oriel I got there before the gates were closed. I cannot
describe how I was feeling that evening, but I knew that Fred was
infinitely better at footer than I was, and in my wildest moments I had
never imagined that I should be put in the XV. while he was left out of
it.
I found him sitting in his room alone, but directly he saw me he jumped
up and began to talk.
"I came to St. Cuthbert's to congratulate you," he began.
"It is a confounded swindle," I interrupted.
"But there was such a row in your rooms that I couldn't face it."
"I have never been so sick about anything in my life," I said; and he
looked so miserable that in spite of the comfortable sensation of
having got my blue I meant it.
"It was a vile knock for me, but I don't mind half so much now one of
us is in. Your people will be most awfully glad."
"They will think the committee are mad to leave you out and put me in.
It upsets things altogether."
"Pott's in his fourth year, and I must have another shot, that's all,"
he said.
"You are bound to get your cricket blue," I declared.
"When a man begins to miss getting in as I have done, he very often
keeps on doing it," and he mentioned the names of two or three men who,
with any luck, would have played both cricket and footer against
Cambridge, but were never chosen. "Don't bother about me," he went on,
"but get yourself as fit as possible, and play like blazes at Queen's
Club; you will be doing me a good turn if you play well, because at
present they have got an idea up here that Cliborough fellows can't
play footer. I heard Adamson saying so."
I expressed my opinion of Adamson and went back to college, for I ought
not to have been out after nine o'clock, because my gating would not
finish. But I must say that when the Subby sent for me, and I
explained what had happened, he congratulated me on getting my blue,
and said that under such exceptional circumstances he would excuse my
forgetfulness.
For the next few days I got up and went to bed very early; I ran round
the Parks before breakfast, which took me some time and was a most
dreary occupation, and I kicked a ball about nearly every day. All of
my people went up to town for the match, and Fred and I joined them at
the Langham on the Tuesday night. My mother was dreadfully sorry for
Fred, and Nina seemed to have forgotten that she was nearly grown-up,
and gave herself no airs at all. I think that Fred, who forgave
swindles very quickly, found some consolation in the fact that he was
going to watch the match with Nina, which would have amused me had I
not been so anxious about the morrow.
There cannot be a more cheerless spot in London than the Queen's Club
on a foggy December afternoon, but when I arrived there and found that
we had got to play in semi-darkness my nervousness almost disappeared.
After being photographed, and running about the ground to stretch our
legs, we began, and for some time I should not think a full-back ever
had less to do than I had. The game settled down into one long
scrimmage, and apart from making a few kicks, which were neither good
nor bad, I was almost a spectator, and at half-time I was, in
comparison with every one else, quite disgustingly clean. We played
towards the pavilion during the second half, and before ten minutes had
passed I was covered with mud, if not with glory. The Cambridge
three-quarters got the ball, and after a round of passing one of them
got a try right behind our posts. Adamson promptly told me that it was
my fault, but as a matter of fact Pott had slipped up at a critical
moment and left his man unmarked, so I did not get much chance of
preventing the try.
After this Cambridge pressed us hard, and I had to fall on the ball
continually, which is a dismal performance until one gets warmed up to
it. Pott's knee had given way, and though he stayed on the ground and
limped about, the Cambridge forwards seemed to be always rushing past
him and hurling me to the ground. Luck, however, was on our side, and
though they were often on the point of scoring nothing really happened,
and at last our forwards got the ball down to the other end of the
ground. I hoped for a little peace, but the man who plays full-back
and expects such a thing is an idiot. Only a few minutes were left
when the Cambridge three-quarters got off again, and, Pott being
useless, two men came at top speed for me. Their centre had the ball,
and had only to throw it to the wing man for a try to be a certainty.
The wing man was an international and about the fastest three-quarter
in Scotland, so I tried a little device, which was bad football, though
in this case it came off. My only chance was for the centre man to
lose his head, and he lost it quite beautifully; if he had only gone on
himself instead of trying to pass there was nobody to stop him, for I
had made up my mind to prevent the fast man getting the ball whatever
happened. I ran in between them, and the centre passed right into my
hands; at the same moment the wing man slipped up, and I was going for
the Cambridge line as fast as I could. No one being near me I think
that I made one of the fastest runs of my life, but not having been
blessed with speed I had to pass at last, and I happened to make quite
a good shot, for one of our halves got the ball and ran in behind the
posts. Adamson kicked the goal all right, and the game ended in a draw
directly afterwards.
I don't mind saying that as I walked off the ground I should have been
glad if there had been less fog; I had suffered so much after the
Cambridge try, that I should have been pleased if everybody had seen
the finish; but after all Fred had managed to discover what had
happened, and if there had not been a fog, I expect I should not have
tried to intercept that pass, for it would have looked quite awful if I
had not happened to do it. All kinds of people congratulated me, and
Adamson was good enough to acknowledge that I had atoned for my
previous mistake; but I could not help wondering what he would have
said if the Cambridge man had not happened to make such a bad pass.
There was a condescension about Adamson which roused my worst passions,
for of all the blues I have seen he was the only one who ever took an
insane delight in himself, and unfortunately he belonged to a college
which so seldom had a blue, that when they did get one they almost
worshipped him.
After the game was over I went back to the Langham, for Fred and I had
arranged to go to a theatre with Jack Ward; but I have only the vaguest
idea of the performance I watched. I had slept badly the night before,
and now that the match was over, nothing could keep me awake, so I had
to be given up as hopeless, though Fred gave me an occasional dig with
his elbow just to keep me from snoring. By the time the play was over
I was properly awake again, and so satisfied with myself, that when I
met Dennison going out of the theatre I was even glad to see him.
"Ward told me you were coming here," he said. "What are you going to
do now?"
"Going home, I suppose," I answered; but I cannot say that I cared much
where I went.
"Let's go to the Parma, there is sure to be a rag on there," he said to
Jack, and after some discussion we walked down Shaftesbury Avenue.
I think the air of the town must have got into Dennison's head, for I
had not walked far before I was in more than my usual state of rage
with him. He ordered us about most abominably, and seemed to think
that I was sure to lose my way unless I kept close to him. As a matter
of fact, neither Fred nor I knew London well, but I resented being
treated like an infant, and if Dennison only looked after us out of
kindness, I did not see why he should do it at the top of his voice. I
had an inexplicable feeling that it was the duty of every one to know
something about London, and although I should not have recognized
Piccadilly Circus when I saw it, I was quite prepared to put that down
to the fog; for if Dennison had not taken so much for granted, I should
never willingly have given myself away to him.
When we reached the Parma I was very thirsty, but there were so many
people in the place that it was impossible to get near the bar. We
were jolted about by men who, having nothing else to say, shouted "Good
old Cambridge!" and "Now then, Oxford!" The pandemonium was deafening,
and Jack said to me that the whole thing wasn't good enough, and unless
you happened to feel like shoving into people and then pretending that
you were very sorry he was quite right.
A man standing on the steps at the top of the room began to make a
speech until somebody shoved him down, and his top-hat, having been
knocked off, was kicked about by everybody who could get near it. Men
whom I never remembered having seen before, shook me warmly by the hand
and treated me as if I was their greatest friend, but none of them
could get me anything to drink. This scene was subsequently described
as disgraceful, but it was really very dull, and after a few more
minutes spent in trying to make my voice heard in the noise, the lights
were turned out. The word "Johnnys" ran round the place, and there was
a big rush for the door leading into Piccadilly Circus. Fortunately I
got out at once, and I found myself marching clown Piccadilly in the
second row of a procession. Foster was next to me, though how he got
there I cannot conceive, and Ward and Dennison were in the front row.
We sang as we walked, and people cleared out of our way. I heard one
man who met us say "Poor fools!" and the fellow who was with him
answered "We did that kind of thing years ago, didn't we?" Outside The
St. John's we came to a dead stop, and the men in front of me began
arguing with an enormous man who stood at the entrance.
"No one else is to be admitted to-night," I heard the giant say.
"But it is not closing time," some one answered.
"These are my orders, gentlemen," he said, and it was really rather
nice of him to address us as he did.
Ward did not say a word, but tried quite amicably to get past the
giant. It was a kind of Goliath and David business anyhow, but
whatever chance Ward had of getting into the restaurant ended abruptly;
a bevy of policemen who seemed to drop out of the skies simply pounced
upon him, and if he had been guilty of some real crime he could not
have been treated more severely. It was my first experience of
policemen, and unless some one had very kindly caught hold of me, my
first impulse was to go for the men who had seized Ward.
"You had better keep quiet, or you will be taken to the station as
well," one policeman said to me, but I went on talking until some one I
did not know touched me on the arm.
"Was the man they collared a friend of yours?" he asked.
"Yes, and it is a most wretched swindle," I said.
"I don't think he did anything to speak of," Foster added.
"I was just coming out of the door as it happened," our friend said,
"and I have never seen a more unfair thing in my life. If you will
come to the police-station to-morrow to give evidence, I will come too.
You had better go now and see if you can do anything for him."
We assured him that we would turn up the next morning, and then Foster
and I made our way to the police-station. I cannot say that the
Inspector, or whoever the official was who talked to us, took much
notice of what we said, but we found a more sympathetic man outside the
station who asked us if we wanted to bail out our friend. The official
had told us that Jack Ward would be quite comfortable during the night,
but when I saw another person brought in by the police we doubted this
statement very much, and we discussed things with our sympathetic
friend, who was a shabby-looking man when he happened to get near the
light, and he gave us much advice in exchange for half-a-sovereign. I
gave him the half-sovereign, though what prompted me to do so I cannot
remember, but I had met so many aggressive people during that evening
that a kind man appealed to me strongly. He was, I heard afterwards, a
professional bailer-out, and I do not think he could have been a very
good one, for although Fred and I went about with him for over an hour,
and rang up various people who treated us with unvarying rudeness, in
the end we had to leave Jack Ward where he was.
It was no easy matter to escape from my people in the morning, but we
got to the place all right, and soon after we got there Jack Ward
appeared, and was charged with creating a disturbance in Piccadilly.
Policemen gave evidence, and the man who had told us that he would come
and speak up for Ward turned out to be a barrister, and did not appear
to be in the least afraid of the magistrate. His evidence was very
different to that of the police, and I thought Jack Ward, who looked as
if he had been having a dreadful time, was bound to get off.
When my turn came to kiss the book I was in a terrible state of
nervousness, and the magistrate asked me my name twice, and where I
lived at least three times. I am sure he must have been deaf, for I
spoke plainly enough, but I thought him a most disagreeable man. After
bothering me until I really felt quite unwell, he asked me how many
drinks I had seen Jack Ward have, and when I answered "None," he said
very angrily, "I shall not want to ask you any more questions." He
might just as well have told me that he did not believe a word I said.
In the end Ward was bound over to keep the peace for a month, and the
magistrate said what he thought of the disturbance which had been made.
He supposed undergraduates to be a far more vicious lot than they
really are, for at the very worst we were only extremely noisy and very
foolish, and Jack Ward was just the victim of horribly bad luck.
I was glad to get away from the police-court, and I am not searching
for such an experience as this again, but principally we were sorry for
Ward, who said he had never spent such a night in his life. However he
was very cheerful about it, and took the view that it might have
happened to any one.
After luncheon Foster and I had to start on tour with the 'Varsity XV.
in Wales, and I was exceedingly glad that Adamson had to stay in town
to play for the South against the North, or Fred would not have come.
On that tour I played very badly and Fred very well, which is what some
people would call the irony of fate. But I must say in excuse for
myself that more difficult people to get hold of than those Swansea,
Newport and Cardiff three-quarters I cannot conceive, and I had no end
of chances of trying to collar them. How many of those chances I took
can be guessed by any one who is curious enough to look up records and
see the lamentable results of those three matches.