HOW MY NEW MASTER MADE TRIAL OF A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER
DIFFICULTIES.
But now let us follow Reader. My master's rooms at Saint George's
College were of the poorest and meanest description; in fact it would
not be too much to describe them--the bedroom and study--as being like a
pair of big cupboards under a great staircase. They looked out on
nothing more picturesque than a blank wall. They were carpeted with
nothing better than an old drugget; and as for paper, the place would
have looked better simply whitewashed. They were suffocating in summer
and draughty in winter, and at nights afforded rendezvous to a whole
colony of rats. Every step on the staircase above thundered down into
the study; the loosely-hung windows rattled even in a light breeze, and
the flavours of the college dustbins, hard by, appeared to have selected
these chambers, above all others, for their favourite haunt. I am told
Saint George's College has recently undergone renovation. It so, it is
probable "the Mouse-trap"--for this was the designation by which George
Reader's classical domain was familiarly styled--has disappeared. Let
us hope so, for a more miserable, uncomfortable, and uninviting couple
of rooms I never saw.
But they had one merit, and that a great one: they were cheap, which to
George Reader meant everything. He had gained a small entrance
scholarship, by the help of which he hoped, with the most rigid economy,
to support himself during his college career. Most other young fellows
would have shrunk from the prospect, but such was my master's ambition
that I believe he would have endured life in a stable if only he could
have there enjoyed the advantages and encouragements of a college
course.
It was, at any rate, a fine sight to see him settle down in his new
dispiriting quarters, determined to make the best of everything, and
suffer nothing to damp his ardour for work. He unpacked his few
precious books and laid them on the shelf; he hung up the likenesses of
his father and mother over the chimney-piece; he produced the cheese
which the latter had insisted on his bringing with him, and, as a
crowning-effect, set me up on the mantel-shelf with as much pride as if
I had been a marble clock.
"That looks something like!" he said to himself. "Now for a little tea,
and then--grind!"
The little tea, however, was "sooner said than done." It involved a
prolonged hunt for the "gyp," or attendant, and a still more prolonged
conference on the subject of hot water, tea, and bread. The suggestions
thrown out by the college official, too, were so very lordly and
extravagant--such, for instance, as ham and eggs, chicken, marmalade,
and chocolate--that poor George's heart fluttered as much as his mouth
watered while he listened. Chicken and chocolate for a poor student who
had barely enough money to afford so much as the luxury of living in the
"Mouse-trap" of Saint George's! Well he might be scared at the idea!
He politely declined the grand offer of his scout, and asking him to
light a small fire and procure him a loaf, sallied out himself into the
town and purchased a small and very cheap quantity of groceries. With
these he returned in triumph to his rooms, and, with the utmost
satisfaction, partook of his first college meal, with a Euclid open on
the table beside him.
Then pouring out a final cup of tea to enjoy, cold, later on, he
"cleared the decks for action," as he called it, which meant putting
away the tea, butter, sugar, and bread in a cupboard, and folding up the
table cloth. Poor George! he had no false pride to forbid such menial
offices; he had not the brag about him which would have led another to
stand on the staircase and howl "Gyp" till every one far and near should
be made aware that he had had a meal which required clearing away. No;
he was only a gamekeeper's son, in a hurry to get at his books; and to
him it was far more natural to wait on his own frugal table than sit in
state till a servant should come and clear it.
"Now," said he to himself, "I shall get a good quiet time for work.
After all it's not bad to be one's own master where reading is
concerned."
And without more ado he set himself down to his books, with me on the
table at his elbow, and his cup of tea within reach, when such
refreshment should be desirable. It was a fine thing to see this young
fellow plunging straight into his work.
Assuredly he had not come to college to fritter away his time--to row,
play cricket, give wine-parties, or drive dog-carts; he had not even
come because it was "the thing," or afforded a "good introduction into
the world." No, he was here for one purpose, and one alone. That was
work. To him the days were as precious mines, and every minute a
nugget. It mattered nothing to him who won the cricket-match this year,
who occupied the rooms next his, how many bumps the Saint George's boat
made on the river; far more important was the thought that perhaps the
oil in his lamp would run short before the night was out, or whether the
edition of Plato his friend the Muggerbridge clergyman had given him was
the best, and contained the fullest notes. In short, George Reader was
in earnest.
But, like the tea, the "good quiet time" he hoped for was not so easy to
secure. Scarcely had he settled down when the voices of two men in loud
conversation rose, immediately under his window. Now, when one is in
the agony of trying to understand how it comes that a certain number of
angles in one figure are equal to a certain number of angles in another,
it is, to say the least of it, confusing to have to listen to a spirited
account of a boxing-match between Jack Straight and the Hon. Wilfred
Dodge; and when that account manages to get interwoven inextricably with
the problem in hand the effect is likely to be distracting; for
instance:--
"Since the solid angle at B is contained by three plane angles, BAF,
FAC, and CAB, then--"
"Jack let out and got in sweetly under his man's guard," and so on.
"Therefore," persevered George, "the angles ABC and ABF--"
"Rounded on him grandly, and--"
"The angles ABC and ABF are together greater than the angle CBF; and,
similarly--"
Here the conversation was continued in language far more worthy of the
disgraceful prize-ring than a college, until George could bear it no
longer. He leapt from his seat and sprang to the window, which he
opened. Leaning out, he surveyed the two disturbers of his peace with
very little affection, but controlled himself sufficiently to say
politely,--
"Would you mind not talking just here? I'm reading."