I do not mean to write at large upon University life, because the theme
has been out–thesed by men of higher powers. It is a brief Olympic,
a Derby premature, wherein to lose or win depends—training, health,
ability, and industry being granted—upon the early stoning or late
kernelling of the brain. Without laying claim to much experience, any
one may protest that our brains are worked a deal too hard at the
time of adolescence. We lose thereby their vivific powers and their
originality. The peach throws off at the critical period all the fruit
it cannot ripen; the vine has no such abjective prudence, and cripples
itself by enthusiasm.
The twins were entered at Merton, and had the luck to obtain adjoining
garrets. Sir Cradock had begun to show a decided preference for
Clayton, as he grew year by year more and more like his mother. But
this was not the only reason why he would not listen to some foolʼs
suggestion, that Cradock, the heir to the property, should be ranked
as a “gentleman–commoner”. That stupid distinction he left for men who
require self–assertion, admiring as he did the sense and spirit of that
Master, well known in his day, who, to some golden cad insisting that
his son should be entered in that college as a gentleman–commoner,
angrily replied, “Sir, _all_ my commoners are gentlemen”.
But the brothers were very soon parted. Clayton got sleeved in a
scholarʼs gown, while Cradock still fluttered the leading–strings. “_Et
tunicæ manicas_—you effeminate Viley”! said Cradock, admiring hugely,
when his twin ran up to show himself off, after winning a Corpus
scholarship; “and the governor wonʼt allow me a chance of a parasol for
my elbows”. Sir Cradock, a most determined man, and a very odd one to
deal with, had forbidden his elder son to stand for any scholarship,
except those few which are of the University corporate. “A youth of
your expectations”, he exclaimed, with a certain bitterness, for he
often repined in secret that Clayton was not the heir, “a boy placed as
you are, must not compete for a poor young ladʼs _viaticum_. You may
go in for a University scholarship, though of course you will never
get one; an examination does good, I have heard, to the unsuccessful
candidates. But donʼt let me hear about it, not even if, by some
accident, you should be the lucky one”. Craddy was deeply hurt; he had
long perceived his fatherʼs partiality for the son more dashing, yet
more effeminate, more pretentious, and less persistent. So Cradock set
his heart upon winning Craven, Hertford, or Ireland, and never even
alluding to it in the presence of his father. Hence it will be evident
that the youth was proud and sensitive.
“Amy _amata, peramata a me_”, cried the parson to his daughter, now a
lovely girl of sixteen, straight, slender, and well–poised; “how glad
and proud we ought to be of Claytonʼs great success”!
“Pa, dear, he would never have got it, I am quite certain of that,
if Cradock had been allowed to go in; and I think it is most unfair,
shamefully unjust, that because he is the eldest son he is never to
have any honour”. And Amy coloured brilliantly at the warmth of her own
championship; but her father could not see it.
“So I am inclined to think”—John Rosedew was never positive, except
upon great occasions—“perhaps I should say perpend, if I were fond of
hybrid English. I donʼt mean about the unfairness, Amy; for I think I
should do the same if I were in Sir Cradockʼs place. I mean that our
Crad would have got it, instead of Clayton, with health and fortune
favouring. But it stands upon a razorʼs edge, _ἐπὶ ξυροῦς ἵσταται
ἀκμῆς_. You can construe that, Amy”?
“Yes, pa, when you tell me the English. How the green is coming
out on the fir–trees! So faint and yet so bright. Oh, papa, what
Greek sub–significance, as you sometimes call it, is equal to that
composition”?
“Well, my poppet, I am so short–sighted, I would much rather have a
triply composite verb——”
“Than three good kisses from me, daddy? Well, there they are, at any
rate, because I know you are disappointed”. And the child, herself
more bitterly disappointed, as becomes a hot partisan, ran away to sit
under a sprawling larch, just getting new nails on its fingers, for the
spring was awaking early.
It was not more than a week after this, and not very far from
All–Foolsʼ–day, when Clayton, directly after chapel, rushed into
Cradockʼs garret, hot, breathless, and unphilosophical. Cradock, calm
and thoughtful, as he usually was, poked his head through the open
slide of the dusthole called a scoutʼs room, and brought out three
willow–pattern plates, a little too retentive of the human impress, and
an extra knife and fork, dark–browed at the tip of the handle. Then he
turned up a corner of tablecloth, where it cherished sombre memories
of a tearful teapot, and set the mustard–pot to control it. Nor long
before he doubled the coffee in the strainer of the biggin, and shouted
“Corker”! thrice, far as human voice would gravitate, down the well of
the staircase. Meanwhile Master Clayton stood fidgeting, and doffed not
his scholarly toga. Corker, the scout, a short fat man, came up the
stairs with dignity and indignation contending. He was amazed that any
freshman “should have the cheek to holler so”. Mr. Nowell was such a
quiet young man, that the scout looked for some apology. “Corker, a
commons of bread and butter, and a cold fowl and some tongue. Be quick
now, before the buttery closes. And, as I see I am putting you out in
your morning work, get a quart of ale at your dinner–time”. “Yes, sir,
to be sure, sir; I wish all the gentlemen was as thoughtful”.
“No, Craddy, never mind that”, cried his brother, reddening richly, for
Clayton was fair as a lady, “I only want to speak to you about—well,
perhaps, you know what it is I have come for. Is that fellow gone from
the door”?
“I am sure I donʼt know. Go and look yourself. But, dear Viley, what is
the matter”?
“Oh, Cradock, you can so oblige me, and it canʼt matter much to you.
But to me, with nothing to look to, it does make such a difference”.
Cradock never could bear to hear this—that his own twin–brother should
talk, as he often did, so much in the pauper strain. And all the while
Clayton was sure of 50,000_l._ under their motherʼs settlement. But
Crad was full of wild generosity, and had made up his mind to share
Nowelhurst, if he could do so, with his brother. He began to pull
Claytonʼs gown off; he would have blacked his shoes if requested. He
always thought himself Vileyʼs prime minister.
“Whatever it is, my boy, Viley, you know I will do it for you, if it is
only fair and honourable”.
“Oh, it is no great thing. I was sure you would do it for me. To
do just a little bit under your best in this hot scrimmage for the
Ireland. I am not much afraid of any man, Crad, except you, and Brown,
of Balliol”.
“Viley, I am very sorry that you have asked me such a thing. Even if it
were in other ways straightforward, I could not do it, for the sake of
the father, and Uncle John, and little Amy”.
“Donʼt you know that the governor doesnʼt want _you_ to get it? You
are talking nonsense, Cradock, downright nonsense, to cover your own
selfishness. And that frizzle–headed Amy, indeed”!
“I would rather talk nonsense than fraud, Clayton. And I canʼt help
telling you that what you say about my father may be true, but is not
brotherly; and your proposal does you very little honour; and I never
could have thought it of you; and I will do my very utmost. And as for
Amy, indeed, she is too good for you to speak of—and—and——” He was
highly wroth at the sneer about Amyʼs hair, which he admired beyond
all reason, as indeed he did every bit of her, but without letting any
one know it. He leaned upon the table, with his thumb well into the
mustard–pot. This was the first real quarrel with the brother he loved
so much; and it felt like a skewer poked into his heart.
“Well, elder brother by about two seconds”, cried Clayton, twitching
his plaits up well upon his coat–collar. “Iʼll do all I can to beat
you. And I hope Brown will have it, not you. Thereʼs the cash for my
commons. I know you canʼt afford it, until you get a scholarship”.
Clayton flung half–a–crown upon the table, and went down the stairs
with a heavy tramp, knocking over a dish with the college arms on,
wherein Corker was bringing the fowl and the tongue. Corker got all the
benefit of the hospitable doings, and made a tidy dinner out of it, for
Cradock could eat no breakfast. It was the first time bitter words had
passed between the brothers since the little ferments of childhood,
which are nothing more than sweetword the moment they settle down. And
he doubted himself; he doubted whether he had not been selfish about it.
It was the third day of the examination, and when he appeared at ten
oʼclock among the forty competitors, he was vexed anew to see that
Clayton had removed to a table at the other end of the room, so as
not to be even near him. The piece of Greek prose which he wrote that
morning dissatisfied him entirely; and then again he rejoiced at the
thought that Viley need not be afraid of him. He had never believed
in his chance of success, and went in for the scholarship to please
others and learn the nature of the examination. Next year he might
have a fairer prospect; this year—as all the University knew—Brown, of
Balliol, was sure of it.
Nevertheless, by the afternoon he was in good spirits again, and found
a mixed paper which suited him as if Uncle John had set it. One of the
examiners had been, some twenty years ago, a pupil of John Rosedew, and
this, of course, was a great advantage to any successor alumnus; though
neither of them knew the other. It is pleasant to see how the old ideas
germinate and assimilate, as the olive and the baobab do, after the
fires of many summers.
Clayton, a placable youth (even when he was quite in the wrong, as in
the present instance), came to Craddyʼs rooms that evening, begged him
not to apologise for his expressions of the morning, and compared notes
with him upon the doings of the day.
“Bless you, Crad”, he cried, after a glass of first–rate brown
sherry—not the vile molassied stuff, thick as the sack of Falstaff,
but the genuine thing, with the light and shade of brown olives in
the sunset, and not to be procured, of course, from any Oxonian
wine–dealer;—“oh, Crad, if we could only wallop that Brown, of Balliol,
between us, I should not care much which it was. He has booked it for
such a certainty, and does look so cocky about it. Did you see the
style he walked off, before hall, arm in arm with a Master of Arts, and
spouting his own iambics”?
“First–rate ones, I dare say, Viley. Have a pipe, old fellow. After
all, it doesnʼt matter much. Folk who have never been in them think a
deal the most of these things. The wine–merchant laughs at beeswing;
and so, I suppose, it is with all trades”. Cradock was not by any means
prone to the discourse sententious; and the present lapse was due, no
doubt, to the reaction ensuing upon his later scene with Viley, wherein
each had promised heartily to hold fast by the brotherhood.
On the following Saturday morning, John Rosedewʼs face flushed
puce–colour as he opened his letters at breakfast–time. “Hurrah! Amy,
darling; hurrah, my child! _Terque quaterque, et novies evoe!_ Eat all
the breakfast, melimel; I wonʼt tell you till I come back”.
“Oh, wonʼt you, indeed”? cried Amy, with her back against the door
and her arms in mock grimness folded. “I rather think you will, papa;
unless you have made up your mind to choke me. And you are half way
towards it already”.
John saw that peculiar swell of her throat which had frightened him so
often—her dear mother had died of bronchitis, and he knew nothing of
medical subjects—and so he allayed her excitement at once, gave her
over to Miss Eudoxia, who was late in her bedroom as usual, and then
set off at his utmost speed to tell his old friend, Sir Cradock. And
a fine turn of speed he still could show, though the whiskers under
his college–cap (stuck on anyhow in the hurry) were as white as the
breast of a martin quivering under the eaves. Since he lost his wife
he had never cared to walk fast, subsiding into three miles an hour,
as thoughtful and placid men will do, when they begin to thumb their
waistcoats. But now through the waking life of “the Chase”, where the
brown fern–stalks bent over the Ammon horn of the lifting frond, and
the fescue grass was beading rough with dew already, here and among the
rabbit–holes, nimbly dodging the undermine, ran as hard as a boy of
twelve, the man of threescore, John Rosedew. Without stopping to knock
as usual, he burst in upon Sir Cradock, now sitting all alone at his
simple, old–fashioned breakfast. Classical and theological training
are not locomotive, as we all know to our cost; and the rector stood
gasping ever so long, with both hands pressed to his side.
“Why, John; quick, quick! You frighten me. Is your house on fire”?
“Old fellow—old fellow; such news! Shake hands—ever since the _charta
forestæ_; shake hands again. Oh, I feel rather sick; pray excuse me;
_ἄνω κάτα στρέφεται_”.
“What is it, John? Do be quick. I must send for Mrs. OʼGaghan and the
stomach–pump”. Biddy was now the licensed doctoress of the household,
and did little harm with her simples, if she failed of doing good.
“_Times_ there? Open it; look, University news! Crad and Clayton”.
Wondering, smiling, placidly anxious, Sir Cradock tore open the
paper, and found, after turning a great many corners, the University
news. Then he read out with a trembling voice, after glancing over it
silently:
“The Ireland scholarship has been awarded to Cradock Nowell, of Merton
College. Proxime accessit Clayton Nowell, scholar of Corpus Christi.
Unless we are misinformed, these gentlemen are twin–brothers”.
“Grintie, grintie, grunt,
Oos be arl tew blunt;
Naw oose Hampshire hogs,
But to zhow the way in bogs”.
So John Rosedew quoted in the fulness of his glory from an old New
Forest rhyme. Johnʼs delight transcended everything, because he had
never expected it. He had taken his own degree ere ever the Ireland
was heard of; but three pupils of his had won it while he was still
in residence. Of that he had not thought much. But now to win it by
proxy in his extreme old age, as he began to consider it, and from all
the crack public schoolmen, and with his own pet alumni, whom no one
else had taught anything—such an Ossa upon Pelion, such an Olympus on
Ossa—no wonder that the snow of his whiskers shook and the dew trembled
under his eyelids.
Sir Cradock, on the other hand, had never a word to say, but turned his
head like one who waits for a storm of dust to go by.
“Why, Cradock, old friend, what on earth is the matter? You donʼt seem
at all delighted”.
“Yes, I am, of course, John; as delighted as I ought to be. But I wish
it had been Viley; he wants it so much more, and he is so like his
mother”.
“So is Crad; every bit as much; an enlarged and grander portrait. Canʼt
you see the difference between a large heart and a mere good one? Will
no one ever appreciate my noble and simple Craddy”?
John Rosedew spoke warmly, and was sorry before the breath from his
lips was cold. Not that he had no right to say it, but because he felt
that he had done far more harm than good.