MR. BINNEY SPEAKS AT THE UNION AND MAKES A DISTINGUISHED ACQUAINTANCE
Mr. Binney went out of Blathgowrie's lodgings and into the street in a
white heat of indignation. His blood boiled within him at the
indignity to which he had been subjected. Was it possible that he,
Peter Binney, the founder of a great commercial house, the Bloomsbury
ratepayer, the almost successful candidate for the London County
Council, had been told in so many words by a mere slip of an impudent
boy that his society was not wanted by him and his callow friends?
What next! he wondered. As if he cared for their contemptible society!
Pshaw! It was the other way about. If they had had the slightest idea
how his name was respected in the City, they would have sung a _very_
different tune. He wouldn't have their acquaintance now, or join their
precious clubs if the committee went down on their bended knees and
begged him to do so. He flung into his rooms burning with anger
against the whole insolent crew of them, and most of all against his
son, Lucius, whom he unjustly accused of being the disloyal cause of
his late reverse.
"Ah, Binney, I thocht ye wouldn't be long, and I'd just wait for ye,"
said a voice with a strong Scotch accent, from the depths of Mr.
Binney's armchair.
"Oh, that you, M'Gee!" said Mr. Binney. "I'm pleased to see you. But
you'll excuse me for being a little upset. I've just undergone a piece
of monstrous impertinence from my Lord Blathgowrie, and I scarcely know
how to contain my anger."
"Toch!" exclaimed M'Gee. "What for do ye want to mix yourself up with
such trash? I've come to talk to you about the Union. Sit down, man,
and listen."
M'Gee, like Mr. Binney, was a freshman, and like Mr. Binney again, had
come up to Cambridge many years later than the average young man enters
upon his University course. He was the son of a Highland gillie, and
had succeeded with incredible difficulty, as far as money was
concerned, in gaining a degree at a Scotch University. But that had
not sufficed for him. He was ambitious, and extremely tenacious of
ideas. He had early made up his mind to bring his brains to the market
of Cambridge, and at Cambridge he accordingly found himself at the age
of thirty-seven, with a scholarship at St. John's College, and nothing
else upon which to support himself except his determination to succeed
to the highest honours that Cambridge could afford. He had joined the
Union with a shrewd and resolute eye to the President's chair, but the
lighter social success which held such a charm from Mr. Binney's point
of view he regarded with the most lofty scorn. Self-contained and
self-reliant as he was, however, he was not entirely without a human
weakness for sympathy and encouragement in his aims, and had fixed upon
Mr. Binney, as one who shared with him some of the accidents of his
position, with whom to indulge in the occasional luxury of discussing
his ambitions.
"I wouldn't give a thought to these young 'bloods,' as they call them,"
said M'Gee. "They'll be of no use to ye. They make a big splash while
they are up here, but when they go down they're no better than dirt."
Here M'Gee snapped a bony finger and thumb. "I'm no saying that I'd
like to be nothing but a worker in Cambridge," he went on. "You keep
to yourself for three years and you come out Senior Wrangler at the end
of it, and they put your picture in the papers. And then you go down,
and what glory do you get from it? There's aye one way of getting
yourself known here, if you're a man of brains, and that's at the
Union. Go round the rooms and look at the pictures of the Presidents
from the beginning. Why, man, there's not a dozen of them that isn't
known to the world at large. That's fame. And it's the sort of fame
that's worth having. Colloguing wi' lords an' that is a puir thing to
it."
"You're right, M'Gee," cried Mr. Binney, springing up, "You're right.
A lord! What's a lord and all his hangers-on? Froth! Dregs! Dirt!
as you rightly remark. I won't have my boy associating with such."
"Leave your boy alone," said M'Gee. "He is a boy, and does very well
as he is. You and I are men, and we'll make use of this place which
most of them don't know the value of. Study the questions of the day,
give a lot of preparation to your speeches, and speak every time the
house sits. Force 'em to take account of you and you'll come out top."
"I will," said Mr. Binney, now greatly excited. "I _can_ come out top
if I want to. I know I can. You and I will be carried down to
posterity, M'Gee, as two of the greatest Presidents the Union has ever
had. To-day's Monday. To-morrow I speak on the vaccination question.
I don't take any interest in it, but I'll get the subject up thoroughly
in the meantime, and my speech will surprise them."
And so Mr. Binney changed his social aspirations, and wrote long
letters to Mrs. Higginbotham describing the acclamations with which he
was received when he rose to speak at the Union, and painting in vivid
colours the honours paid to the occupant of the President's chair, that
chair which had been filled by so many illustrious men.
He and M'Gee spoke every Tuesday in that term. M'Gee was intolerably
dogmatic, metaphysical and long-winded, always heard the secretary's
bell ring before he had half finished his argument, and invariably
emptied the house of all but the long-suffering officials whenever he
rose to his feet. Mr. Binney as surely filled it. He was a wind-bag,
but a wind-bag who delighted his audience in the same way as a monkey
on an organ is a source of appreciation not so much for its innate
humour as for the unstudied expression of its personality. It was
quite true that Mr. Binney roused the applause of the assembly. The
incipient statesmen lolling on the benches or writing notes on their
knees or strolling up to have a word with the President in his seat of
state, cheered him on, laughed uproariously at his witticisms as well
as at his studied and serious periods, and could never have enough of
him. It was a long time since any speaker at the Union had amused his
audience so well, and he was in the seventh heaven of delight at his
popularity until the elections for the officers at the end of the term,
when both he and M'Gee stood for the committee, and appeared at the
bottom of the list, M'Gee with thirty votes and Mr. Binney with six.
This was a serious blow to him, and he began to realise that he had
been looked upon as a buffoon.
But before this other things had happened. Although debarred from the
society of those with whom he had at first tried to ally himself, Mr.
Binney had contracted many acquaintanceships with men of his own year
and others who did not place the value of their friendship very high.
The boys fresh from school who had come up at the same time as himself
looked upon him as a great joke, ate his breakfasts and luncheons and
occasional dinners, and asked him to their own in return. As he showed
himself anxious to be considered one of themselves, they obliged him,
with perhaps more familiarity and slappings on the back than they
usually made use of to one another. But Mr. Binney enjoyed it and felt
he was getting on famously. He greatly appreciated the tales of daring
which freshmen love to tell one another, about exciting runs from
avenging Proctors, and smart, one-sided conversations with Deans, in
which the freshman is always represented as using such witty and
convincing arguments that the Dean can only sit and listen, and is glad
to get rid of him at last at any price if he will only allow the
management of the college to remain in its present inefficient hands a
little longer. Mr. Binney had not as yet emulated any of these deeds
of daring, for he still looked upon the authorities with considerable
awe, and was turning his attention for the most part towards getting
his work ready for the first part of the Littlego and maintaining his
reputation at the Union. But he thought them very fine for all that,
and it was not long before he fell.
Among his fellow-freshmen was one, Brandon, a Rugby football-player,
who had once or twice played for the University. He was not a Blue
yet, but he was the next best thing to it, and Mr. Binney cultivated
his society in the intervals of his more serious pursuits. Brandon had
a friend called Howden who was a Blue, a great, noisy, good-natured,
ignorant ox, who was in constant danger of being sent down for his
numerous breaches of discipline.
Howden came into Brandon's rooms one morning to fish for a dinner, his
affairs being in a chronic state of financial depression. He used no
unnecessary finesse in stating his ends.
"I've taken my name off hall to-night," he said, "and don't know where
to feed. Got anything going, Brandy?"
"I'm going to dine with Binney," said Brandon. "You'd better come too."
"What! that stuck-up ass!" said Howden. "Didn't know you knew him.
No, thanks. I don't mix with Bloods."
"Oh, I don't mean Lucy Binney," said Brandon, "I don't know him. The
bantam's my pal."
"What! that little old man!" exclaimed Howden. "Whatever do you want
to go and dine with him for? He'll report you to the dons if you make
a row, and I don't care for dining where I can't enjoy myself."
"My dear chap," said Brandon, "you can make as much row as you like.
He'll be all the better pleased. He's a tremendous little sportsman.
He gives you the best fizz and as much as you want of it."
"The deuce he does! All right, I'll come, Brandy. I don't know him.
I suppose that don't matter."
"Not a bit," said Brandon. "I'll make that all right. 19A Jesus Lane,
eight o'clock."
"Right you are," said Howden. "Don't forget. I shall turn up."
Mr. Binney was as pleased as Punch when he learnt that he was at last
going to be honoured by the company of a Blue, and made an excuse to
write a note to Minshull in which he casually mentioned that he was
expecting Howden, "who plays back for the 'Varsity," to dinner that
night.
Howden came and made himself agreeable to his host. Mr. Binney was
delighted to find that such a great man was not inclined to stand on
any ceremony. The rest of the party were freshmen, who were also
inclined to treat the great Howden with deference, but in the course of
the dinner the deference vanished, and the company got hilarious and on
perfectly good terms with one another. After dinner they "ragged," and
played a little game of "Soccer" with a sofa cushion, in the course of
which Mr. Binney got the wind knocked out of his body, and was not
sorry when his landlord came up to inform him that the chandelier in
the room below had fallen down.
"Let's go round and rag old Tubby Vane," said Howden.
Vane was another football Blue, and lived in college. So the party
moved round in a body to the New Court. Vane kept on the third floor,
and was out, so his visitors were baffled for the moment.
"There's old Miniken keeps below," said Mr. Binney, who was enjoying
himself to the full in this distinguished company. "Let's go and rag
_him_."
Miniken was a Union light, a quiet reading man, when he was not
thundering forth Radical views in the debates. Mr. Binney did not know
him very well, but wished to display the brilliant Howden to his
astonished gaze.
"All right," said Howden. "Never heard of him, but I daresay he keeps
very good whisky. Come on."
Miniken's oak was sported.
"He's skulking," said Howden. "Let's kick his oak in."
"Hi! Miniken! Come out of that, you old beggar," yelled Mr. Binney;
but all was silence.
Howden took a short run and kicked in a panel. Mr. Binney took a short
run at the same panel, and got his foot wedged. When he had been
extricated with unnecessary violence by his companions, a combined
assault was made upon the oak, which presently gave way. The rooms
were empty.
Howden turned up the lights and made a search for something to drink,
which was unsuccessful, as Miniken was a teetotaller. Then they "made
hay" of his rooms, and, after completely changing their aspect, left,
to avoid an interview with a porter who was coming up the staircase to
see what the disturbance was about. Mr. Binney never doubted but that
Miniken would be quite as amused as themselves when he came back, and
not a little flattered at receiving a visit from the august Howden, if
he found out who was responsible for the altered appearance of his
apartments.
When Miniken did return he was naturally annoyed at the discovery of
what had taken place. He obtained from the porter the names of his
invaders, and sat down and wrote a letter of complaint to the Senior
Dean. Then he put his room to rights and went to bed.
In the meantime Mr. Binney went home, greatly pleased with his
evening's entertainment. Before retiring to rest he wrote a full
account of it to Mrs. Higginbotham, and expatiated on the popularity
that must accrue to him from having made a friend of Howden, who,
before parting from him, had assured him that he was one of the best
fellows he had ever met, and that he would stick by him and come and
dine with him whenever he liked.
The next day Mr. Binney was requested to call on the Junior Dean at a
specified hour. He did so with some inward trepidation, and waited in
the ante-room where a secretary was at work, who informed him that the
Dean was engaged, but would see him in a few minutes. Presently steps
were heard on the staircase, and to his surprise Lucius entered the
room.
"Halloa! you hauled too?" said the little man with a sheepish grin.
"What for?"
"I don't know. Chapels, I suppose," said Lucius, who had heard of his
father's escapade, and whose face was covered with a deep blush.
"I hope we shan't get gated," said Mr. Binney. "What are you going to
say to the old chap?"
Before Lucius had time to reply the Dean's door opened, and Mr. Binney
was summoned into the presence of the "old chap," who had been in
frocks when "Binney's Food for Poultry" was first becoming known.
"Sit down, Mr. Binney," said the Dean, who appeared unaccountably
nervous. "I see you have not kept the requisite number of chapels
since the beginning of term. Is there any reason for that? I see by
my list that you have not been once to chapel on a Sunday."
Mr. Binney breathed a sigh of relief and drew himself up.
"I prefer to attend my own place of worship on the Sabbath," he said,
twisting his cap by the tassel.
"Ah! you are perhaps a Nonconformist," said the Dean.
"I am," said Mr. Binney; "and I'm not ashamed of it."
"No reason to be, Mr. Binney," said the Dean. "I needn't trouble you
any more on that score then," and he made a pencil note on the paper
before him. "But there is another matter," he went on, "which, I
confess, it surprises me to have to bring before a man of
your--er--standing. I understand that you and some others broke in the
door of Mr. Miniken's rooms last night, and took most unwarrantable
liberties with his furniture. I could hardly believe it, but I am
assured that it is so."
"It was a mere freak, sir," said Mr. Binney boldly. "I went round with
Howden--the football Blue----"
"You needn't bring in anybody else's name," said the Dean.
"Well, we went round to call on--on another football Blue, but he was
out, and as old Miniken, who is a friend of mine, happened to live
below him, I said, 'Let's go and rouse him up.' He was sported, so we
kicked in his oak for a lark. We didn't mean any harm. Of course, I'm
quite willing to pay for repairing the door."
The Dean passed his hand over his mouth.
"That you will have to do, of course, you and the others between you,"
he said. "But I may as well tell you, Mr. Binney, that we don't
recognise such larks here. If you want to behave like a troublesome
boy, you had better go somewhere else. You are gated at eight for a
fortnight, and don't let me hear of any such piece of folly again, or
you won't get off so easily."
Mr. Binney took himself off feeling rather ashamed, but still a little
pleased with himself. "Gated at eight for a fortnight," he said, as he
joined his son in the ante-room, where Blathgowrie had also made his
appearance.
"Serve you right, you little ass," said Blathgowrie as Lucius entered
the presence chamber. "Now run along and play."
"You were not with your father, I think, when the door in the New Court
was broken in?" said the Dean.
"No, I wasn't," said Lucius shortly, his face a deep red.
The Dean threw a quick glance at him.
"Is your father--?" he began, and then stopped.
"Off his head?" said Lucius. "I don't know. I never thought he was
until he came up here. I know _I_ shall be, pretty soon, if this goes
on."
"I didn't mean that," said the Dean, "I was going to ask if he intended
to stop here until he takes a degree."
"I suppose so, if he isn't sent down first," said Lucius bitterly.
The Dean could not disguise a smile. "Don't get downhearted about it,
Binney," he said kindly, "we've all got our little trials to bear. One
of mine is having continually to ask undergraduates why they don't come
to chapel. I see you haven't kept a single chapel this term. How is
that?"
"I was afraid I might meet my father," said Lucius.
The Dean smiled again.
"Your father has conscientious objections to joining in our services,"
he said, "and I'm afraid I couldn't accept that as an excuse in any
case. Have you been anywhere instead?"
"I go to King's sometimes."
"Well, I think you had better come to Trinity sometimes too in the
future. Good-night, Binney."
His introduction to Howden was the beginning of Mr. Binney's fall from
steadiness. He soon made the acquaintance of other athletes of similar
character to Howden, and was very proud of being seen about with them.
These accommodating gentlemen had no sort of objection to his being
constantly in their company, so long as he fed them generously and put
no check on their boisterous behaviour when he was with them. And Mr.
Binney was far from wishing to do this. The new cap which he had
bought under Lucius's directions was soon exchanged for a very old and
battered one. Howden and all his friends were rowdies, and Mr. Binney
in his mild way became a rowdy too.
One Tuesday evening towards the end of the term, Lucius found himself
in the gallery at the Union listening to a debate on the motion: "That
this house views with alarm the growing tyranny of University
officials," and sat dejectedly through an uproariously applauded speech
from his father, in the course of which Mr. Binney inquired "why a
fellow shouldn't smoke in cap and gown if he wanted to," and was twice
called to order for alluding to "the progginses."
"Come out of this; it makes me sick," he said to his companion. They
went out and strolled slowly down Jesus Lane to Edwards's billiard
rooms. Opposite the "Pitt," Mr. Binney passed them with two of his
noisy friends, carrying his gown on his arm. He did not notice them,
nor a Proctor who was coming along Park Street, and Lucius had the
gratification of seeing his father stopped at the corner, and
peremptorily ordered to put on his gown by the Proctor. Mr. Binney did
as he was told, taking off his gown again when the Proctor had turned
his back, and was let into his lodgings feeling himself the very devil
of a fellow.
After his first escapade with Howden, Mr. Binney was a little upset by
a letter he received from Mrs. Higginbotham in answer to the one in
which he had given her an account of the proceedings.
"You must not let yourself be led away by your high spirits," wrote
Mrs. Higginbotham, "and pray be careful that these new grand young
friends you have made do not lead you astray. I should like you to
keep a good character with your masters and bring home a good report at
the end of the term. My dear father often used to say that he would
rather my brothers won the conduct prize at school than any other, and
they always did so, which pleased my father very much until he
discovered that they used to buy the prizes themselves out of their
very liberal allowance of pocket money and write their master's name in
them, which was not right, and earned them a whipping from Mr.
Wilkinson who was at that time the head of the Lewisham Academy for
Young Gentlemen, where they were educated, as well as another from my
father, which they told me was far the worse of the two, as I can quite
credit, because my dear father, who made his own way in the world, had
been employed in early life in a furniture warehouse, and among his
duties was that of beating carpets."
Mr. Binney wrote in answer that little occurrences such as the one in
which he had taken part were common in Cambridge and increased the fame
of those who inaugurated them, and rebuked Mrs. Higginbotham for
talking of his "masters." "The 'Varsity is not a school, my dear
Martha," wrote Mr. Binney, "and we are allowed a great deal of freedom
to amuse ourselves as we please."
Mr. Binney and Lucius now saw very little of one another, but before
Mr. Binney had allied himself with Howden and his crew, Lucius had paid
him a visit one afternoon and found a young man with a long, solemn
face not unlike Minshull's sitting on Mr. Binney's sofa.
"Ah, Lucius," said Mr. Binney, "I'm glad you have come. This is your
mother's cousin, John Jermyn, whose father you may have heard me speak
of as a respected clergyman in Norfolk. John tells me he has gained a
scholarship at Queens' and I am very glad to hear it--very glad. It is
most laudable of him. We must go and call on him when we have time.
Let me see, where is Queens'? That little college at the end of the
Backs with a wooden bridge, isn't it? Quite so. A very nice little
college indeed. I should have liked to have been at Queens' myself if
I hadn't been at Trinity. Pity you couldn't come to Trinity, John.
However, we can't all be at the best college, can we?"
After a little more patronage from his uncle, John Jermyn took his
leave.
"You must look that young fellow up, Lucius," said Mr. Binney, "and he
tells me his sister Elizabeth is at Girton. They both came up this
term. A clever family. You must go and call on her too--I believe
it's allowed--I don't care about going out there myself. Their mother
was a great friend of your dear mother's when they were girls together.
We never saw much of her after she was married, for her husband held
his head high, although I have never heard that he was at Trinity or
any good college as a young man. It is our turn to hold our heads high
now, but you must certainly call on John and Elizabeth, and show them
that we are not too proud to recognise our relations."
Lucius did call on John Jermyn soon afterwards and asked him to lunch.
The two young men found they had very little in common and the
acquaintanceship dropped.