LORD BLATHGOWRIE HAS SOMETHING TO SAY
Poor Lucius went up to Cambridge for his second year with his allowance
pared down to L360 a year, for, careful as he was, he had not been so
successful as altogether to avoid hurting his father's
susceptibilities; and with him went Mr. Binney, for eighteen months of
hard toil had enabled him to pass the entrance examination, and he was
now duly admitted a pensioner of Trinity.
Lucius had been allotted rooms in college, while Mr. Binney inhabited
one of the choice mansions in Jesus Lane. He had knocked off ten
pounds from his son's allowance for suggesting a retired situation in
the Trumpington Road. "I am determined to do the thing as well as my
means will permit of," he had said. "If I can secure good rooms in
college next year, I shall do so. Until then I shall take the best
lodgings that are available."
They parted at the railway station. "I suppose I shall see you some
time to-morrow," said Mr. Binney, when he had collected his luggage and
was just stepping into a fly.
"I suppose so," said Lucius dejectedly, as he drove away.
Lucius dined that night in hall, and sat in extreme misery while his
friends aired their humour at his expense, for by this time the news of
Mr. Binney's arrival had become public property. Their chaff was not
ill-humoured, and if matters had stood as they evidently imagined,
Lucius could have borne it. Elderly undergraduates are not altogether
unknown at Cambridge, although they do not often appear at Trinity
College; but they are usually careful to comport themselves with
dignified reticence, and to keep very much in the background. A
University degree is, as a rule, the sole end they have in view in
putting themselves to school again, and they are very far from wishing
to ape the manners and customs of the young men with whom they share
the pursuit of that laudable object. Lucius had the mortification of
feeling that if Mr. Binney had contented himself with working quietly
for a degree, and living the unobtrusive life which befitted his years,
the amused interest aroused by the event of father and son pursuing
their studies at the same time at the same college would have worn
itself out, and Mr. Binney might even have come to be considered in the
light of a pleasant acquaintance by Lucius's friends. He knew quite
well that his father would not be content with this humble role, and
that the intermittent sniping of which he was now the object would
develop into a regular fusillade of ridicule when Mr. Binney had had
time to spread himself a bit and become more notorious.
He went back to his solitary rooms after hall and set himself down to
read. Poor boy, he was too dispirited to do anything else. He sported
himself in with the half-formed intention of refusing admittance to his
father if he should present himself. But up to ten o'clock, when the
college gates are shut to outsiders, no one had attempted to invade his
privacy. Soon afterwards he went to bed, having spent his first
evening at Cambridge entirely in his own society. For two days he
moped alone, keeping to his rooms as much as possible and only leaving
the college to go down to the river, where his fame was steadily
rising. His friends for the most part considerately kept out of his
way, thinking that he might be engaged in looking after his freshman
parent. But strangely enough he heard or saw nothing of Mr. Binney.
He avoided places where he was likely to meet him, and so far his
father had never once been to his rooms.
On the third morning he determined to face the music. "If I'm to stop
up here," he said to himself--"and I can't go down now I've got a
chance of my Blue--I must make up my mind to get used to it. But it's
enough to make a fellow take to drink, or work, or something." Then he
put on his hat and went round to the "Pitt" Club.
There was a group of men round the fire-place in the big room.
"Halloa! here's Binney Minor," said one of them. "How's your major
getting on, old man?"
Then many agreeable pleasantries were fired off at him, while he sat on
one of the long seats and pretended to read a paper. When it was found
that the pleasantries did not amuse him, and he was taking his fate
seriously, they ceased, and by-and-bye an exodus took place and he was
left to himself.
"I'm afraid poor old Lucy's papa is rather a trial to him," said one of
his late tormentors as they walked up Jesus Lane in the sedate and easy
manner affected by undergraduates who value their position. "What has
he come up for, any way?"
"To look after Lucy, I suppose," said another, "but I don't know why;
_he's_ straight enough."
"Have you seen the little beggar?" inquired Blathgowrie, who was one of
the group. "He's one of the rummiest little beggars you ever saw;
rather like an elderly jockey who's got into parliament. Can't think
where Lucy gets his good looks from. His mother must have been a
ripper."
"I saw him on the river yesterday," said a rowing man; "he was coxing a
First Trinity boat and shouting away as if he had been at it all his
life. The crew looked frightened and the coach couldn't get a word in
edgeways. I think that little man is going to afford us some
amusement."
"If he's going to play the fool," said the first man, "that's why Lucy
looks so glum when he's chaffed, and I don't wonder at it. I must say
it's beastly hard lines on him, and he's such a good chap. Binney
major's the sort of governor one would like to keep in the background.
Here's Dizzy."
Dizzy was on his way to the "Pitt." When he got there he found Lucius
sitting alone, looking the picture of misery. A few Bloods were
talking blatantly round the fire, and some quiet members were trying to
write letters or read the papers in other parts of the room.
"Well, how has he been behaving?" asked Dizzy, sitting down by his
friend.
"I haven't seen him yet," said Lucius. "I can't think why."
"Perhaps he means to behave decently and keep out of the way,"
suggested Dizzy.
"Not he," answered Lucius. "There's something up."
There was. When Lucius got back to his rooms he found a note on his
table.
"Dear Lucius," it ran, "Pray what is the meaning of your not coming to
call on me? You know very well that I can't go to your rooms until you
do, you being the senior man, and there are a lot of things I want to
talk to you about. You will find yourself L10 poorer at the end of the
year for this piece of impertinence, and let me advise you to be very
careful how you behave. Though a freshman I am still your father.
Come to tea this afternoon at five o'clock. I am not to be trifled
with.--P.B."
The miserable Lucius went to his father's rooms on his way up from the
river. Mr. Binney had been on the river, too, and had not yet
returned. Lucius had an opportunity of surveying his father's
quarters. There was nothing to show they did not belong to the most
callow freshman of eighteen. There were two large shields with the
coats-of-arms of the University and Trinity College over the
mantelpiece. There was a Trinity coat-of-arms on the coal scuttle, on
the match-holders, the pipe-rack, and every article in the room that
could reasonably bear it, as well as on every piece of crockery that
was laid out on Mr. Binney's tea-table. The usual textbooks and
note-books lay about. Lucius looked into the latter and found a feeble
attempt at a caricature of a respected lecturer, signed P.B. On the
mantelpiece were some printed cards and papers relating to certain
small clubs and societies, of which the freshman seeks membership with
much avidity, and resigns with equal enthusiasm when he has reached the
dignity of his second year. On a chair lay Mr. Binney's cap and gown.
To Lucius's horror, the stiffening of the cap had disappeared, and the
gown had been cut short. These are the unfailing signs of the
second-rate undergraduate who wishes to be taken for a sporting
character. Some misguided but radically inoffensive freshmen fall
under the influence of such ideals in their early days, and grow out of
them afterwards. But surely Mr. Binney could not have made friends
with the rowdies yet! He had hardly had time to make friends with
anybody.
Just then Mr. Binney himself came in. He was in his boating clothes,
of which he was not a little proud.
"Oh, so you've condescended to come at last, have you?" he said.
"I'm very sorry, father," said poor Lucius. "I'd no idea you would
stand on all that ceremony. I couldn't make out why you didn't turn
up. I thought perhaps you had made up your mind that it would be
better for us to take different lines."
"Another ten pounds off," roared Mr. Binney, "you know what I said."
"Oh, _damn_ it," said Lucius, losing patience. "I shan't have anything
left at all soon. I'd better go down at once, and have done with it."
"How dare you swear at me, sir?" cried Mr. Binney.
"Well, isn't it enough to make a chap swear?" answered Lucius, almost
crying. "I've had such a jolly time up here, and now I'm ashamed to
show my face. And as if that wasn't enough you take money off me every
time I open my mouth."
Mr. Binney relented. He was fond of his son, and Lucius looked very
unhappy. "I'll let you off this time," he said, "but don't let it
occur again. Now, what I wanted to say was that I'm not getting on as
I expected. Not a soul has called on me except some one who wanted a
subscription for a missionary society. I was very pleased to give him
a sovereign, of course, but I could hardly take his call as a friendly
visit. I have picked up a few friends of my own year at hall and
elsewhere, but that isn't what I want. I want to know the
distinguished men. You know them. Why haven't you sent some of them
to call on me?"
"Look here, father," said Lucius. "It's no use going on like this.
The people I know don't go in for all this 'calling' rot, and I'm not
going to ask them to. If you _must_ know that particular lot, you'll
meet some of them in my rooms occasionally, and if they take to you,
well, you'll get to know some of them. But you must take your chance
just like anybody else. It's no good pushing things."
"Well, there's sense in that," said Mr. Binney. "You can have a little
dinner in your rooms. I'll pay for it, and I daresay we shall be very
good friends before the evening is out. I suppose you couldn't get
Muttlebury up for it, could you? You said you knew him. I should like
to meet Muttlebury."
"No, I couldn't," said Lucius shortly.
"Well, any blues will do. I should like to be able to tell Minshull I
dined with a party of blues. He only knew one, and that very
slightly--Widgeon, who put the hammer or something last year. He was
at Peterhouse--Pothouse, I mean. By-the-bye, I suppose there's no harm
in my looking up men of my own year, is there?"
"I suppose not, not if you use your sense about it."
"Now, what about the 'Pitt' Club? When is the election?"
"I don't know. In about a fortnight I should think."
"Is my name down for it?"
"No."
"And why not, pray?"
"I've only been there once since I came up."
"Put it down at once, then, and don't lose any more time about it.
Minshull had never heard of the 'Pitt,' but I have learnt since I came
up that all the best known people belong to it. And I should like to
belong to the A.D.C. too."
"I daresay I can manage that for you. I'm on the committee now, and we
are always very kind; but, look here, father, there's not the slightest
chance of your belonging to the 'Pitt' or the A.D.C. either if you
don't keep yourself in the background at first. And whatever made you
knock the stuffing out of your cap like that? It's only the rowdies
whom nobody respectable has anything to do with who go in for that sort
of thing."
"Minshull told me that if you wore a new cap and gown everybody took
you for a smug," said Mr. Binney.
"Minshull's a fool," said Lucius, with withering scorn. "You'd better
take my advice about things like that, not his. And I should buy
myself a new cap if I were you."
A few days after, Dizzy gave a dinner. Most of his guests had arrived
and were discussing the vagaries of Mr. Binney, who by this time had
become a public character, when Blathgowrie arrived in a state of some
perturbation.
"I say, you fellows," he said, as he came in. "This business will have
to be stopped. I've had that little bantam in my rooms since seven
o'clock. I'm not going to stand it."
"What did he want?"
"Said he hadn't seen me in hall, and wondered what had become of
me--thought he'd pay me a friendly call."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I was civil for the sake of poor old Lucy. But I didn't get him
out of the room for an hour, and he said he was coming again. Hang me
if I ever saw such a pushing little scug."
"Lucy ought to tell him to keep to himself."
"Bless you, _he_ can't help it," said Dizzy. "He gets his screw docked
every time he suggests such a thing."
"Well, I call it a beastly shame. But if Lucius can't do it, somebody
else must."
"I'll do it," said Blathgowrie. "I'm not shy. He's bound to turn up
again soon; said we were fellow freshmen, or some such rot, and ought
to know one another better. He'll know _me_ better before I've done
with him. Hush, here's Lucy."
Mr. Binney was not elected to the "Pitt" Club, and Lucius had not been
able to bring himself to propose his name for membership of the A.D.C.,
preferring to lose the L10 of income which his father knocked off for
each rebuff, than to put his colleagues to the awkward necessity of
either rejecting his nomination, or of electing his father to clubs
where he was not wanted. Nor did his dinner bring about that measure
of popularity which Mr. Binney had hoped for. Lucius asked four of his
tried friends, who were very polite, very much bored, and retired
early. Dizzy might have saved the situation, but Dizzy had gone up to
town with an _exeat_. Mr. Binney had by this time joined the Union and
spoken twice. He could talk of nothing else and looked forward with
confidence to filling the President's chair.
A few nights afterwards he again invaded Blathgowrie. It was about
half-past nine, and that estimable nobleman had a select party of about
twelve playing the unallowable game.
There was an abashed silence when little Mr. Binney entered and flung
his cap and gown on a chair.
"Good evening, Mr. Binney," said Blathgowrie. "We are engaged in a
quiet game of whist. Could you make it convenient to call on another
occasion?"
"Don't mention it, my lord; don't mention it," said Mr. Binney. "I'll
make myself comfortable and look on. I should like to see whist
played. It is a game I am unacquainted with, although I recollect when
I was a young fellow Snap and Old Maid used to be favourite games in
the family circle."
"They're favourite games up here," said Blathgowrie, "and so are Hunt
the Slipper and Puss in the Corner. We'll play Puss in the Corner when
we've finished this, and you shall be poor pussy. What, not going yet,
Astley!"
But first one and then another of Blathgowrie's friends was afraid he
must be going, and in ten minutes he was alone with Mr. Binney, putting
up the cards with unimpaired cheerfulness.
"I'm very sorry I've disturbed your game," said Mr. Binney, whom this
wholesale exodus had considerably amazed.
"Not at all, Mr. Binney, not at all. My friends are in the habit of
retiring to rest early. They're all anxious to catch the worm
to-morrow, you know."
"Don't call me Mr. Binney," said Peter; "call me Binney. We're of the
same standing, you know."
"So we are, Binney," acquiesced Blathgowrie. "Well, Binney, how do you
find yourself? Pretty well, thank you?"
Mr. Binney began to grow suspicious.
"I hope, sir, I'm not intruding on you," he began.
"Well, Binney," said Blathgowrie, "to tell you the plain truth, you do
intrude confoundedly."
Mr. Binney started up out of his chair.
"Pray sit down, Binney," said Blathgowrie. "I am commissioned by my
friends and your son's--Lucy's, you know--to tell you we consider
you're behaving in a devilish mean and shabby manner to him. He's done
his best for you, you know, but to tell you the truth we don't care for
you, Binney. You're not quite our sort, you know---a year or two older
perhaps--and we really can't have you poking in your nose where you're
not wanted. There are plenty of nice quiet Johnnies about who'll be
very pleased to make your acquaintance, especially if you feed them
well, but speaking for the unworthy people whom you honour with your
attentions at present, I beg to inform you that they are declined with
thanks."
Mr. Binney arose in his wrath. He was somewhat violent and altogether
incoherent. Blathgowrie handed him his cap and gown and opened the
door for him.
"Good-night, Binney," he said, "mind the step;" and Mr. Binney
disappeared down the staircase.