“_We won't go home till morning!_”
--English Song.
[Illustration: 9252]
ND now for a 'burst'!” I said to myself.
Adieu, fond fancies; welcome, gay reality!”
I dressed for the evening; I filled my purse; I started out to seek the
real friends I had been neglecting for the sake of that imaginary one.
But I had only got the length of opening my door when I smiled a cynical
smile. There was Halfred in the passage playing the same farce with
Aramatilda. They stood very close together, remarkably close together,
talking in low tones.
“Thus woman fools us all,” I thought.
With a little exclamation Miss Titch flew upstairs while Halfred turned
to me with something of a convicted air.
“Miss Titch has been a-telling me, sir--” he began.
“I know; I saw her,” I replied, eying him in a way that disconcerted
him considerably. “She has been telling you that woman is worthy of your
homage; and doubtless you believed her. Did you not?”
“No, sir. She ain't said that exactly,” he answered; “though it wouldn't
be surprising, either, to hear 'er usin' them kind of words, considering
'er remarkable heducation. Wot she said was--”
“That you will serve till she finds another,” I interposed.
“Miss Titch, sir, ain't one of that kind,” he replied, with an air of
foolish chivalry I could not but admire in spite of myself.
“Pardon, Halfred. She is divine; I admit it. What did she say, then?”
“She says there's been a furriner pumpin' 'er about you, sir, this very
hafternoon.”
“Pumping?”
“Hashing questions like wot a Bobby does; as if 'e wanted hall the
correct facts.”
“Ha!” I said. “And he asked them of a woman!”
“Yes, sir; 'e comed up to 'er in the square and says 'e, 'You're Miss
Titch, ain't you?' and 'e gets a-talkin' to 'er--a very polite gentleman
'e was, she says--and then 'e sorter gets haskin' about you, sir, and
wot you was a-doing and 'oo your friends was, and about the General,
too.
“And, in brief, he gossiped with her on every subject that would serve
as an excuse,” I said. “Halfred, if I were you and I felt interested in
Miss Titch--I say, supposing I felt interested in Miss Titch, I should
look out for that foreigner and practise my boxing upon him!”
[Illustration: 9254]
“Then you don't think, sir--”
“I don't think it was me he was interested in.”
“Well, sir,” said my servant, with a disappointed air, for he founded
great hopes of melodrama upon me, “in that case I shall advise Miss
Titch to take care of 'erself.”
I laughed.
“Do not fear,” I replied. “They all do that. It is we who need the
caution! Yes, Halfred, my sympathy is with that poor foreigner.”
I fear my servant put down this sentiment to mere un-British
eccentricity, but I felt I had done my duty by him.
As for the inquisitive foreigner, I smiled at the idea that he had
really addressed the fair Aramatilda for the purpose of hearing news of
me. I may mention that I had heard nothing more of Hankey; nothing from
the league; nothing had followed the arrival of the packing-case; the
French government seemed to have ignored my escapade; there were many
foreigners in London unconnected with my concerns; so why should I
suppose that this chance acquaintance of Aramatilda's had anything to do
with me? “If I am wanted, I shall be sent for,” I said to myself. “Till
then, revelry and distraction!”
First, I sought out Teddy Lumme. We met for the first time since I
left Seneschal Court, but at the first greeting it was evident that all
resentment had passed from his mind as completely as it had from mine.
“Where the deuce have you been hiding?” he asked me, with his old
geniality. “We wanted you the other night; great evening we had; Archie
and me and Bobby and Tyler; box at the Empire, supper at the European,
danced till six in the morning at Covent Garden; breakfast at Muggins;
and the devil of a day after that. I'd have sent you a wire but I
thought you'd left town. No one has seen you. Been getting up another
conspiracy, what? Chap at the French embassy told me the other day their
government expected your people to have a kick-up soon. By Jove, though,
he told me not to tell any one! But you won't say anything about it, I
dare say.”
“I can assure you it is news to me,” I replied, “but in any case I
certainly should not discuss the matter indiscreetly.”
“And now the question is,” said Teddy, “where shall we dine and what
shall we do afterwards?”
Ah, it may be elevating and absorbing to experiment in Plato and guide
the operations of philanthropy, but when the head is not yet bald and
the blood still flows fast, commend me to an evening spent with cheerful
friends in search of some less austere ideal! This may not be the
sentiment of an Aurelius--but then that is not my name.
We dined amid the glitter of lights and mirrors and fair faces and
bright colors; a band thundering a waltz accompaniment to the soup, a
mazurka to the fish; a babel of noise all round us--laughing voices,
clattering silver, popping corks, stirring music; and ourselves getting
rapidly into tune with all of this.
“By-the-way,” I said, in a nonchalant tone, “have you seen Aliss
Trevor-Hudson again?”
“No,” said Teddy, carelessly, and yet with a slightly uncomfortable air.
“Did you become friends again? Pardon me if I am indiscreet.”
“Hang it! d'Haricot,” he exclaimed; “I'm off women--for good this time.”
“Then she was--what shall I say?”
“She kept me hanging on for a week,” confessed Teddy, “and then suddenly
accepted old Horley.”
“Horley--the stout baronet? Why, he might be her father!”
“So Miss Horley thinks, I believe,” grinned Teddy. “His family are sick
as dogs about it.”
“And hers?”
“Oh, Sir Henry has twenty thousand a year; they're quite pleased.”
I smiled cynically at this confirmation of my philosophy.
“I say, have you got over your own penshant, as you'd call it, for the
lady?” asked Teddy.
“My dear fellow,” I said, lightly, “these affairs do not trouble me
long. I give you a toast, Teddy--here is to man's best friend--a short
memory!”
“And blow the expense!” added Teddy, somewhat irrelevantly, but with
great enthusiasm.
“A short life and a merry one!” I exclaimed.
“Kiss 'em all, and no heel-taps!” cried Teddy. “Waiter, another bottle,
and move about a little quicker, will you? Getting that gentleman's
soup, were you? Well, don't do it again; d'ye hear?”
[Illustration: 0258]
At this moment a piercing cry reached us from the other side of the
room. It sounded like an elementary attempt to pronounce two words,
“Hey, Teddy! Hey, Teddy!” and to be composed of several voices. We
looked across and saw four or five young men, most of them on their
feet, and all waving either napkins or empty bottles. On catching my
friend's eye their enthusiasm redoubled, and on his part he became
instantly excited.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Excuse me one minute.”
He rushed across the room and I could see that he was the recipient of a
most hilarious greeting. Presently he came back in great spirits.
“I say, we're in luck's way,” he said. “I'd quite forgotten this was the
night of the match.”
It then appeared that the universities of Oxford and Cambridge had been
playing a football match that afternoon and that on the evening of the
encounter it was an ancient custom for these seats of learning to join
in an amicable celebration of the event.
“The very thing we want,” said Teddy. “Come on and join these men--old
pals of mine; dashed good chaps and regular sportsmen. Come on!”
“But,” I protested, as I let him lead me to these “regular sportsmen,”
“I am neither of Oxford nor Cambridge.”
“Oh, that doesn't matter. Hi!” (this was to call the attention of his
friends to my presence). “Let me introduce Mr. Black, of Brasenose;
Mr. Brown, of Balliol, Mr. Scarlett, of Magdalen; Mr. White, of
Christchurch. This is my honorable and accomplished friend, Mr. Juggins,
of Jesus!”
At this there was a roar of welcome and a universal shout of “Good old
Juggins!”
“But indeed my friend flatters me!” I exclaimed. “I have not the honor
to be the Juggins.”
No use in disclaiming my new name, however. Juggins of Jesus I remained
for the rest of that evening, and there was nothing for it but to live
up to the character. And I soon found that it was not difficult. All I
had to do was to shout whenever Mr. Scarlett or Mr. Black shouted, and
wave my napkin in imitation of Mr. White or Mr. Brown. No questions were
asked regarding my degree or the lectures I attended, and my perfect
familiarity with Jesus College seemed to be taken for granted. I do not
wish to seem vainglorious, but I cannot help thinking that I produced a
favorable impression on my new friends.
“Juggins won the match for us,” shouted Mr. White. “Good old Juggins!”
“I did, indeed. Vive la football! I won it by an innings and a goal!” I
cried, adopting what I knew of their athletic terms.
“Juggins will make us a speech! Good old Juggins!” shouted Mr. Black.
[Illustration: 0260]
“Fellow-students!” I replied, rising promptly at this invitation, “my
exploits already seem known to you, better even than to myself. How I
hit the wicket, kick the goal, bowl the hurdle, and swing the oar, what
need to relate? Good old Juggins, indeed! I give you this health--to my
venerable college of Jesus, to the beloved colleges of you all, to my
respectable and promising friend, Lumme, to the goal-post of Oxford, to
love, to wine, to the Prince of Wales!”
Never was a speech delivered with more fervor or received with greater
applause. After that I do not think they would have parted with me to
save themselves from prison. And indeed it very nearly came to that
alternative more than once in the course of the evening.
[Illustration: 0262]
We hailed two hansoms, and drove, three in each, and all of us
addressing appropriate sentiments to the passers-by, to a music-hall
which, as I am now making my début as a distinguished sportsman, I shall
call the “Umpire.” I shall not give its real name, as my share in the
occurrences that ensued is probably still remembered by the management.
It was, however, not unlike the title I have given it.
My head, I confess, was buzzing in the most unwonted fashion, but I
remember quite distinctly that as we alighted from our cabs there was
quite a crowd about the doors, all apparently making as much noise
as they could, and that as we pushed our way through, my eyes were
fascinated by a bill bearing the legend “_NEPTUNE_--the Amphibious
Marvel! First appearance to-night! All records broken!” And I wondered,
in the seriously simple way one does wonder under such conditions, what
in the world the meaning of this cryptogram might be.
We got inside, and, my faith! the scene that met our eyes! Apparently
the football match was being replayed in the promenade and on the
staircases of the Umpire. Three gigantic figures in livery--“the
bowlers-out” as they are termed--were dragging a small and tattered man
by the head and shoulders while his friends clung desperately to his
lower limbs. Round this tableau seethed a wild throng shouting “Oxford!”
“Cambridge!” and similar war-cries--destroying their own and each
others' hats, and moved apparently by as incalculable forces as the
billows in a storm. On the stage a luckless figure in a grotesque
costume was vainly endeavoring to make a comic song audible; and what
the rest of the audience were doing or thinking I have no means of
guessing.
“Oxford! To the rescue!” shouted Mr. Black.
“Vive Juggins! Kick the football!” I cried, leading the onslaught and
hurling myself upon one of the bowlers-out.
“Good old Juggins!” yelled my admirers, as they followed my spirited
example, and in a moment the house rang with my new name. “Juggins!”
could, I am sure, have been heard for half a mile outside.
The uproar increased; more bowlers-out hurried to the rescue; and
I, thanks to my efficient use of my fists and feet, found myself the
principal object of their attention. Had it not been for the loyal
support of my companions I know not what my fate would have been, but
their attachment seemed to increase with each fresh enemy who assailed
me.
At last, panting and dishevelled, my opera-hat flattened and crushed
over my eyes, the lining of my overcoat hanging out in a long streamer,
like a flag of distress, I was dragged free by the united efforts of Mr.
White and Mr. Scarlett, and for an instant had a breathing space.
[Illustration: 0264]
I could see that the curtain was down and the performance stopped; that
many people had risen in their places and apparently were calling for
the assistance of the police, and that from the number of liveries in
the mêlée the management were taking the rioters seriously in hand. In
another moment two or three of these officials broke loose and bore down
upon me with a shout of “That's 'im!”
“Bolt, Juggins!” cried Mr. Scarlett. “We'll give you a start.”
The two intrepid gentlemen placed themselves between me and my pursuers.
I stood my ground for a minute, but seeing that nothing could withstand
the onset of my foes, and that Mr. White was already on the floor, I
turned and fled. The chase was hot. I dashed down a flight of stairs,
and then, by a happy chance, saw a door marked “private.” Through it I
ran and was making my way I knew not whither, but certainly in forbidden
territory, when I was confronted by an agitated stranger. I stopped, and
would have raised my hat had it not been so tightly jammed upon my head.
The man looked at me for a moment, and then seemed to think he
recognized my face.
[Illustration: 0266]
“You are Mr. Neptune?” said he.
“You have named me!” I cried, opening my arms and embracing him
effusively.
“I am afraid you got into the crowd,” said he, withdrawing, in some
embarrassment, I thought. “I suppose that is why you are late.”
“That is the reason,” I replied, feeling mystified, indeed, but devoutly
thankful that he did not recognize me as the hunted Juggins.
“Well,” he said, “you had better go on at once, if you don't mind. There
is rather a disturbance, I am afraid, and we have lowered the curtain;
but perhaps your appearance may quiet them.”
“My appearance?” I asked, glancing down at my torn overcoat, and
wondering what sedative effect such a scarecrow was likely to have.
Besides, I had appeared and it had not quieted them; though this, of
course, he did not know.
“I mean,” he answered, “that the nature of your performance is so
absorbing that we hope it may rivet attention somewhat.”
A light dawned upon me. I now remembered the bill outside the theatre.
I was the “Amphibious Marvel!” Well, it would not do for the intrepid
Juggins to refuse the adventure. For the honor of Jesus College I must
endeavor to “break all records.” My one hope was that, as it was to be
my first appearance, anything strange in the nature of my performance
might be received merely as a diverting novelty.
“The stage is set for you,” said my unknown friend. “How long will it
take you to change?”
“Change?” I replied. “This is the costume in which I always perform.”
He looked surprised, but also relieved that there would be no further
delay, and presently I found myself upon a huge stage, the curtain
down in front, and no one there but myself and my conductor. What was
I expected to do? I was sufficiently expert at gymnastics to make some
sort of show upon the trapeze without more than a reasonable chance of
breaking my neck. But there was no sign of any such apparatus. Was I,
then, a strong man? I had always had a grave suspicion that those huge
cannon-balls and dumb-bells were really hollow, and, in any case, I
could at least roll them about. But there were neither cannonballs nor
dumb-bells. No, there was nothing but a high and narrow box of glass.
“It is all right, you will find,” said my conductor, coming up to this.
I also approached it and gave a gasp.
The box was filled with water--water about six feet deep!
“I shouldn't care to dive into it myself,” he said, jocularly. “But I
suppose it is all a matter of practice.”
“Do I dive in--from the roof?” I asked, a little weakly, I fear.
“Did you mean to?” he replied, evidently perturbed lest their
arrangements had been insufficient.
“Not to-night,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “But to-morrow night--ah,
yes; you will see me then!”
He regarded me with undisguised admiration.
“You are all ready?” he asked.
“Quite,” I replied.
We went into the wings and the curtain rose.
“I time you, of course,” said my friend, taking out his watch. “You have
stayed under five minutes in Paris, haven't you?”
I had discovered my vocation at last. The Amphibious Neptune was a
record-breaking diver.
“Ten,” I answered, carelessly, and with such an air as I thought
appropriate to my reputation I walked onto the stage.
“Gentlemen and ladies!” shouted my friend, coming up to the foot-lights.
“This is the world-famed Neptune, who has repeatedly stayed under water
for periods of from eight to ten minutes! He is rightly styled--”
But at this point his voice was lost in such an uproar as, I flatter
myself, greets the appearance of few Umpire artistes. “Good old
Juggins!” they shouted. “Good old Juggins!” I was recognized now, and
I must live up to my reputation as the high-spirited representative of
Jesus College, Oxford.
[Illustration: 0269]
Kissing my hand to my cheering audience I mounted the steps placed
against the end of the tank, and with a magnificent splash leaped
into the water--I cannot strictly say I dived, for, on surveying the
constricted area of my aquatic operations, it seemed folly to risk
cracking a valuable head.
Unluckily, I had omitted in my enthusiasm to remove even my top-coat,
and either in the air or the water (I cannot say which) I drove my
foot through the torn lining. Conceive now the situation into which my
recklessness had plunged me--entangled in my overcoat at the bottom of
six feet of water, struggling madly to free myself, with only a sheet
of transparent glass between me and as dry a stage as any in England;
drowning ridiculously in clear view of a full and enthusiastic house.
My struggles can only have lasted for a few seconds, though to me they
seemed longer than the ten minutes I had boasted of, and then--the good
God be thanked!--I felt the side of my prison yield to my kicking,
and in another moment I was seated in three inches of water, dizzily
watching a miniature Niagara sweep the stage and foam over the
foot-lights into the panic-stricken orchestra.
“Down with the curtain!” I heard some one cry from behind, but before it
had quite descended the Amphibious Marvel had smashed his way out of his
tank and leaped into the unwilling arms of the double-bass.
[Illustration: 0270]
Ah! that was a night to be remembered--though not, I must frankly admit,
to be repeated. Another mêlée with the exasperated musicians; a gallant
rescue by Teddy and his friends; a triumphant exit from the Umpire borne
on the shoulders of my cheering admirers; all the other events of that
stirring night still live in the memory of “Good old Juggins.” To my
fellow undergraduates of an evening I dedicate this happy, disreputable
reminiscence.
[Illustration: 8000]