The summer day in 1874 which closed the annual session of Whitelaw
College was marked by a special ceremony, preceding the wonted
distribution of academic rewards. At eleven in the morning (just as a
heavy shower fell from the smoke-canopy above the roaring streets) the
municipal authorities, educational dignitaries, and prominent burgesses
of Kingsmill assembled on an open space before the College to unveil a
statue of Sir Job Whitelaw. The honoured baronet had been six months
dead. Living, he opposed the desire of his fellow-citizens to exhibit
even on canvas his gnarled features and bald crown; but when his
modesty ceased to have a voice in the matter, no time was lost in
raising a memorial of the great manufacturer, the self-made
millionaire, the borough member in three Parliaments, the enlightened
and benevolent founder of an institute which had conferred humane
distinction on the money-making Midland town. Beneath such a sky,
orations were necessarily curtailed; but Sir Job had always been
impatient of much talk. An interval of two or three hours dispersed the
rain-clouds and bestowed such grace of sunshine as Kingsmill might at
this season temperately desire; then, whilst the marble figure was
getting dried,--with soot-stains which already foretold its negritude
of a year hence,--again streamed towards the College a varied
multitude, official, parental, pupillary. The students had nothing
distinctive in their garb, but here and there flitted the cap and gown
of Professor or lecturer, signal for doffing of beavers along the line
of its progress.
Among the more deliberate of the throng was a slender, upright,
ruddy-cheeked gentleman of middle age, accompanied by his wife and a
daughter of sixteen. On alighting from a carriage, they first of all
directed their steps towards the statue, conversing together with
pleasant animation. The father (Martin Warricombe, Esq. of Thornhaw, a
small estate some five miles from Kingsmill,) had a countenance
suggestive of engaging qualities--genial humour, mildness, a turn for
meditation, perhaps for study. His attire was informal, as if he
disliked abandoning the freedom of the country even when summoned to
urban ceremonies. He wore a grey felt hat, and a light jacket which
displayed the straightness of his shoulders. Mrs. Warricombe and her
daughter were more fashionably equipped, with taste which proclaimed
their social standing. Save her fresh yet delicate complexion the lady
had no particular personal charm. Of the young girl it could only be
said that she exhibited a graceful immaturity, with perchance a little
more earnestness than is common at her age; her voice, even when she
spoke gaily, was seldom audible save by the person addressed.
Coming to a pause before Sir Job, Mr. Warricombe put on a pair of
eyeglasses which had dangled against his waistcoat, and began to
scrutinise carefully the sculptured lineaments. He was addressing
certain critical remarks to his companions when an interruption
appeared in the form of a young man whose first words announced his
relation to the group.
'I say, you're very late! There'll be no getting a decent seat, if you
don't mind. Leave Sir Job till afterwards.'
'The statue somehow disappoints me,' observed his father, placidly.
'Oh, it isn't bad, I think,' returned the youth, in a voice not unlike
his father's, save for a note of excessive self-confidence. He looked
about eighteen; his comely countenance, with its air of robust health
and habitual exhilaration, told of a boyhood passed amid free and
joyous circumstances. It was the face of a young English plutocrat,
with more of intellect than such visages are wont to betray; the native
vigour of his temperament had probably assimilated something of the
modern spirit. 'I'm glad,' he continued, 'that they haven't stuck him
in a toga, or any humbug of that sort. The old fellow looks baggy, but
so he was. They ought to have kept his chimney-pot, though. Better than
giving him those scraps of hair, when everyone knows he was as bald as
a beetle.'
'Sir Job should have been granted Caesar's privilege,' said Mr.
Warricombe, with a pleasant twinkle in his eyes.
'What was that?' came from the son, with abrupt indifference.
'For shame, Buckland!'
'What do I care for Caesar's privileges? We can't burden our minds with
that antiquated rubbish nowadays. You would despise it yourself,
father, if it hadn't got packed into your head when you were young.'
The parent raised his eyebrows in a bantering smile.
'I have lived to hear classical learning called antiquated rubbish.
Well, well!--Ha! there is Professor Gale.'
The Professor of Geology, a tall man, who strode over the pavement as
if he were among granite hills, caught sight of the party and
approached. His greeting was that of a familiar friend; he addressed
young Warricombe and his sister by their Christian names, and inquired
after certain younger members of the household. Mr Warricombe,
regarding him with a look of repressed eagerness, laid a hand on his
arm, and spoke in the subdued voice of one who has important news to
communicate.
'If I am not much mistaken, I have chanced on a new species of
_homalonotus_!'
'Indeed!--not in your kitchen garden, I presume?'
'Hardly. Dr Pollock sent me a box of specimens the other day'--
Buckland saw with annoyance the likelihood of prolonged discussion.
'I don't know whether you care to remain standing all the afternoon,'
he said to his mother. 'At this rate we certainly shan't get seats.'
'We will walk on, Martin,' said the lady, glancing at her husband.
'We come! we come!' cried the Professor, with a wave of his arm.
The palaeontological talk continued as far as the entrance of the
assembly hall. The zest with which Mr. Warricombe spoke of his
discovery never led him to raise his voice above the suave, mellow
note, touched with humour, which expressed a modest assurance. Mr Gale
was distinguished by a blunter mode of speech; he discoursed with
open-air vigour, making use now and then of a racy colloquialism which
the other would hardly have permitted himself.
As young Warricombe had foreseen, the seats obtainable were none too
advantageous; only on one of the highest rows of the amphitheatre could
they at length establish themselves.
'Buckland will enjoy the more attention when he marches down to take
his prizes,' observed the father. 'He must sit at the end here, that he
mayn't have a struggle to get out.'
'Don't, Martin, don't!' urged his wife, considerately.
'Oh, it doesn't affect me,' said Buckland, with a laugh.
'I feel pretty sure I have got the Logic and the Chemistry, and those
are what I care most about. I dare say Peak has beaten me in Geology.'
The appearance in the lower part of the hall of a dark-robed
procession, headed by the tall figure of the Principal, imposed a
moment's silence, broken by outbursts of welcoming applause. The
Professors of Whitelaw College were highly popular, not alone with the
members of their classes, but with all the educated inhabitants of
Kingsmill; and deservedly, for several of them bore names of wide
recognition, and as a body they did honour to the institution which had
won their services. With becoming formality they seated themselves in
face of the public. On tables before them were exposed a considerable
number of well-bound books, shortly to be distributed among the
collegians, who gazed in that direction with speculative eyes.
Among the general concourse might have been discovered two or three
representatives of the wage-earning multitude which Kingsmill depended
upon for its prosperity, but their presence was due to exceptional
circumstances; the College provided for proletarian education by a
system of evening classes, a curriculum necessarily quite apart from
that followed by the regular students. Kingsmill, to be sure, was no
nurse of Toryism; the robust employers of labour who sent their sons to
Whitelaw--either to complete a training deemed sufficient for an active
career, or by way of transition-stage between school and
university--were for the most part avowed Radicals, in theory scornful
of privilege, practically supporters of that mode of freedom which
regards life as a remorseless conflict. Not a few of the young men
(some of these the hardest and most successful workers) came from poor,
middle-class homes, whence, but for Sir Job's foundation, they must
have set forth into the world with no better equipment of knowledge
than was supplied by some 'academy' of the old type: a glance
distinguished such students from the well-dressed and well-fed
offspring of Kingsmill plutocracy. The note of the assembly was
something other than refinement; rather, its high standard of health,
spirits, and comfort--the characteristic of Capitalism. Decent
reverence for learning, keen appreciation of scientific power, warm
liberality of thought and sentiment within appreciable limits,
enthusiasm for economic, civic, national ideals,--such attributes were
abundantly discoverable in each serried row. From the expanse of
countenances beamed a boundless self-satisfaction. To be connected in
any way with Whitelaw formed a subject of pride, seeing that here was
the sturdy outcome of the most modern educational endeavour, a
noteworthy instance of what Englishmen can do for themselves, unaided
by bureaucratic machinery. Every student who achieved distinction in
to-day's class lists was felt to bestow a share of his honour upon each
spectator who applauded him.
With occasional adjustment of his eye-glasses, and smiling his smile of
modest tolerance, Mr. Warricombe surveyed the crowded hall. His
connection with the town was not intimate, and he could discover few
faces that were familiar to him. A native and, till of late, an
inhabitant of Devon, he had come to reside on his property near
Kingsmill because it seemed to him that the education of his children
would be favoured by a removal thither. Two of his oldest friends held
professorships at Whitelaw; here, accordingly, his eldest son was
making preparation for Cambridge, whilst his daughter attended classes
at the admirable High School, of which Kingsmill was only less proud
than of its College.
Seated between his father and his sister, Buckland drew their attention
to such persons or personages as interested his very selective mind.
'Admire the elegant languor of Wotherspoon,' he remarked, indicating
the Professor of Greek. 'Watch him for a moment, and you'll see him
glance contemptuously at old Plummer. He can't help it; they hate each
other.'
'But why?' whispered the girl, with timid eagerness.
'Oh, it began, they say, when Plummer once had to take one of
Wotherspoon's classes; some foolery about a second aorist. Thank
goodness, I don't understand the profound dispute.--Oh, do look at that
fatuous idiot Chilvers!'
The young gentleman of whom he spoke, a student of Buckland's own
standing, had just attracted general notice. Rising from his seat in
the lower part of the amphitheatre, at the moment when all were hushed
in anticipation of the Principal's address, Mr. Chilvers was beckoning
to someone whom his eye had descried at great distance, and for whom,
as he indicated by gesture, he had preserved a place.
'See how it delights him to make an exhibition of himself!' pursued the
censorious youth. 'I'd bet a sovereign he's arranged it all. Look how
he brandishes his arm to display his cuffs and gold links. Now he
touches his hair, to point out how light and exquisite it is, and how
beautifully he parts it!'
'What a graceful figure!' murmured Mrs. Warricombe, with genuine
admiration.
'There, that's just what he hopes everyone is saying,' replied her son,
in a tone of laughing disgust.
'But he certainly is graceful, Buckland,' persisted the lady.
'And in the meantime,' remarked Mr. Warricombe, drily, 'we are all
awaiting the young gentleman's pleasure.'
'Of course; he enjoys it. Almost all the people on that row belong to
him--father, mother, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins to
the fourth degree. Look at their eyes fondly fixed upon him! Now he
pretends to loosen his collar at the throat, just for a change of
attitude--the puppy!'
'My dear!' remonstrated his mother, with apprehensive glance at her
neighbours.
'But he is really clever, isn't he, Buckland?' asked the sister, her
name was Sidwell.
'After a fashion. I shouldn't wonder if he takes a dozen or two prizes.
It's all a knack, you know.'
'Where is your friend Peak?' Mr. Warricombe made inquiry.
But at this moment Mr. Chilvers abandoned his endeavour and became
seated, allowing the Principal to rise, manuscript in hand. Buckland
leaned back with an air of resignation to boredom; his father bent
slightly forward, with lips close pressed and brows wrinkled; Mrs
Warricombe widened her eyes, as if hearing were performed with those
organs, and assumed the smile she would have worn had the speaker been
addressing her in particular. Sidwell's blue eyes imitated the movement
of her mother's, with a look of profound gravity which showed that she
had wholly forgotten herself in reverential listening; only when five
minutes' strict attention induced a sense of weariness did she allow a
glance to stray first along the professorial rank, then towards the
place where the golden head of young Chilvers was easily
distinguishable.
Nothing could be more satisfactory than the annual report summarised by
Principal Nares, whose mellifluous voice and daintily pedantic
utterance fell upon expectant hearing with the impressiveness of
personal compliment. So delivered, statistics partook of the grace of
culture; details of academic organisation acquired something more than
secular significance. In this the ninth year of its existence, Whitelaw
College was flourishing in every possible way. Private beneficence had
endowed it with new scholarships and exhibitions; the scheme of
lectures had been extended; the number of its students steadily
increased, and their successes in the field of examination had been
noteworthy beyond precedent. Truly, the heart of their founder, to whom
honour had this day been rendered, must have gladdened if he could but
have listened to the story of dignified progress! Applause, loud and
long, greeted the close of the address. Buckland Warricombe was
probably the only collegian who disdained to manifest approval in any
way.
'Why don't you clap?' asked his sister, who, girl-like, was excited to
warmth of cheek and brightness of eye by the enthusiasm about her.
'That kind of thing is out of date,' replied the young man, thrusting
his hands deep into his pockets.
As Professor of Logic and Moral Philosophy, Dr Nares began the
distribution of prizes. Buckland, in spite of his resolve to exhibit no
weakness, waited with unmistakable tremor for the announcement of the
leading name, which might possibly be his own. A few words of comment
prefaced the declaration:--never had it been the Professor's lot to
review more admirable papers than those to which he had awarded the
first prize. The name of the student called upon to come forward
was--Godwin Peak.
'Beaten!' escaped from Buckland's lips.
Mrs. Warricombe glanced at her son with smiling sympathy; Sidwell,
whose cheek had paled as her nerves quivered under the stress of
expectancy, murmured a syllable of disappointment; Mr. Warricombe set
his brows and did not venture to look aside. A moment, and all eyes
were directed upon the successful student, who rose from a seat
half-way down the hall and descended the middle passage towards the row
of Professors. He was a young man of spare figure and unhealthy
complexion, his age not easily conjectured. Embarrassment no doubt
accounted for much of the awkwardness of his demeanour; but, under any
circumstances, he must have appeared ungainly, for his long arms and
legs had outgrown their garments, which were no fashionable specimens
of tailoring. The nervous gravity of his countenance had a peculiar
sternness; one might have imagined that he was fortifying his
self-control with scorn of the elegantly clad people through whom he
passed. Amid plaudits, he received from the hands of the Principal a
couple of solid volumes, probably some standard work of philosophy,
and, thus burdened, returned with hurried step to his place.
'No one expected that,' remarked Buckland to his father. 'He must have
crammed furiously for the exam. It's outside his work for the First
B.A.'
'What a shame!' Sidwell whispered to her mother; and the reply was a
look which eloquently expressed Mrs. Warricombe's lack of sympathy with
the victor.
But a second prize had been awarded. As soon as silence was restored,
the Principal's gracious voice delivered a summons to 'Buckland Martin
Warricombe.' A burst of acclamation, coming especially from that part
of the amphitheatre where Whitelaw's nurslings had gathered in greatest
numbers, seemed to declare the second prizeman distinctly more popular
than the first. Preferences of this kind are always to be remarked on
such occasions.
'Second prize be hanged!' growled the young man, as, with a flush of
shame on his ruddy countenance, he set forth to receive the honour,
leaving Mr. Warricombe convulsed with silent laughter.
'He would far rather have had nothing at all,' murmured Sidwell, who
shared her brother's pique and humiliation.
'Oh, it'll do him good,' was her father's reply. 'Buckland has got into
a way of swaggering.'
Undeniable was the swagger with which the good-looking, breezy lad went
and returned.
'What is the book?' inquired Mr. Warricombe.
'I don't know.--Oh, Mill's _Logic_. Idiotic choice! They might have
known I had it already.'
'They clap him far more than they did Mr. Peak,' Sidwell whispered to
her mother, with satisfaction.
Buckland kept silence for a few minutes, then muttered:
'There's nothing I care about now till Chemistry and Geology. Here
comes old Wotherspoon. Now we shall know who is strongest in second
aorists. I shouldn't wonder if Peak takes both Senior Greek and Latin.
I heartily hope he'll beat that ass Chilvers.'
But the name so offensive to young Warricombe was the first that issued
from the Professor's lips. Beginning with the competition for a special
classical prize, Professor Wotherspoon announced that the honours had
fallen to 'Bruno Leathwaite Chilvers.'
'That young man is not badly supplied with brains, say what you will,'
remarked Mr. Warricombe.
Upon Bruno Leathwaite Chilvers keen attention was directed; every pair
of female eyes studied his graces, and female hands had a great part in
the applause that greeted his arising. Applause different in kind from
that hitherto bestowed; less noisy, but implying, one felt, a more
delicate spirit of commendation. With perfect self-command, with
singular facial decorum, with a walk which betokened elegant
athleticism and safely skirted the bounds of foppery, Mr. Chilvers
discharged the duty he was conscious of owing to a multitude of
kinsfolk, friends, admirers. You would have detected something clerical
in the young man's air. It became the son of a popular clergyman, and
gave promise of notable aptitude for the sacred career to which Bruno
Leathwaite, as was well understood, already had designed himself. In
matters sartorial he presented a high ideal to his fellow-students;
this seemly attention to externals, and the delicate glow of health
discernible through the golden down of his cheeks, testified the
compatibility of hard study and social observances. Bruno had been
heard to say that the one thing it behoved Whitelaw to keep carefully
in mind was the preservation of 'tone', a quality far less easy to
cultivate than mere academic excellence.
'How clever he must be!' purred Mrs. Warricombe. 'If he lives, he will
some day be an archbishop.'
Buckland was leaning back with his eyes closed, disgusted at the
spectacle. Nor did he move when Professor Wotherspoon's voice made the
next announcement.
'In Senior Greek, the first prize is taken by--Bruno Leathwaite
Chilvers.'
'Then I suppose Peak comes second,' muttered Buckland.
So it proved. Summoned to receive the inferior prize, Godwin Peak, his
countenance harsher than before, his eyes cast down, moved ungracefully
to the estrade. And during the next half-hour this twofold exhibition
was several times repeated. In Senior Latin, in Modern and Ancient
History, in English Language and Literature, in French, first sounded
the name of Chilvers, whilst to the second award was invariably
attached that of Peak. Mrs. Warricombe's delight expressed itself in
every permissible way: on each occasion she exclaimed, 'How clever he
is!' Sidwell cast frequent glances at her brother, in whom a shrewder
eye could have divined conflict of feelings--disgust at the
glorification of Chilvers and involuntary pleasure in the successive
defeats of his own conqueror in Philosophy. Buckland's was by no means
an ignoble face; venial malice did not ultimately prevail in him.
'It's Peak's own fault,' he declared at length, with vexation.
'Chilvers stuck to the subjects of his course. Peak has been taking up
half-a-dozen extras, and they've done for him. I shouldn't wonder if he
went in for the Poem and the Essay: I know he was thinking about both.'
Whether Godwin Peak had or had not endeavoured for these two prizes
remained uncertain. When, presently, the results of the competition
were made known, it was found that in each case the honour had fallen
to a young man hitherto undistinguished. His name was John Edward
Earwaker. Externally he bore a sort of generic resemblance to Peak, for
his face was thin and the fashion of his clothing indicated narrow
means.
'I never heard you mention him,' said Mr. Warricombe, turning to his
son with an air of surprise.
'I scarcely know him at all; he's only in one or two of my classes.
Peak is thick with him.'
The subject of the prize poem was 'Alaric'; that of the essay, 'Trades
Unionism'. So it was probable that John Edward Earwaker did not lack
versatility of intellect.
On the rising of the Professor of Chemistry, Buckland had once more to
subdue signs of expectancy. He knew he had done good papers, but his
confidence in the result was now clouded by a dread of the second
prize--which indeed fell to him, the first being taken by a student of
no account save in this very special subject. Keen was his
mortification; he growled, muttered, shrugged his shoulders nervously.
'If I had foreseen this, you'd never have caught me here,' was his
reply, when Sidwell whispered consolation.
There still remained a chance for him, signalled by the familiar form
of Professor Gale. Geology had been a lifelong study with Martin
Warricombe, and his son pursued it with hereditary aptitude. Sidwell
and her mother exchanged a look of courageous hope; each felt convinced
that the genial Professor could not so far disregard private feeling as
to place Buckland anywhere but at the head of the class.
'The results of the examination are fairly good; I'm afraid I can't say
more than that,' thus rang out Mr. Gale's hearty voice. 'As for the
first two names on my list, I haven't felt justified in placing either
before the other. I have bracketed them, and there will be two prizes.
The names are--Godwin Peak and Buckland Martin Warricombe.'
'He might have mentioned Buckland first,' murmured Mrs. Warricombe,
resentfully.
'He of course gave them out in alphabetical order,' answered her
husband.
'Still, it isn't right that Buckland should come second.'
'That's absurd,' was the good-natured reply.
The lady of course remained unconvinced, and for years she nourished a
pique against Professor Gale, not so much owing to his having bracketed
her son as because the letter P has alphabetical precedence of W.
In what remained of the proceedings the Warricombes had no personal
interest. For a special reason, however, their attention was excited by
the rising of Professor Walsh, who represented the science of Physics.
Early in the present year had been published a speculative treatise
which, owing to its supposed incompatibility with Christian dogmas,
provoked much controversy and was largely discussed in all educated
circles. The work was anonymous, but a rumour which gained general
currency attributed it to Professor Walsh. In the year 1874 an
imputation of religious heresy was not lightly to be incurred by a
Professor--even Professor of Physics--at an English college. There were
many people in Kingsmill who considered that Mr. Walsh's delay in
repudiating so grave a charge rendered very doubtful the propriety of
his retaining the chair at Whitelaw. Significant was the dispersed
applause which followed slowly upon his stepping forward to-day; on the
Professor's face was perchance legible something like a hint of amused
defiance. Ladies had ceased to beam; they glanced meaningly at one
another, and then from under their eyelids at the supposed heretic.
'A fine fellow, Walsh!' exclaimed Buckland, clapping vigorously.
His father smiled, but with some uneasiness. Mrs. Warricombe whispered
to Sidwell:
'What a very disagreeable face! The only one of the Professors who
doesn't seem a gentleman.'
The girl was aware of dark reports affecting Mr. Walsh's reputation.
She hazarded only a brief examination of his features, and looked at
the applauding Buckland with alarm.
'His lectures are splendid,' said her brother, emphatically. 'If I were
going to be here next session, I should take them.'
For some minutes after the Professor's return to his seat a susurration
was audible throughout the hall; bonnets bent together, and beards
exchanged curt comments.
The ceremony, as is usual with all ceremonies, grew wearisome before
its end. Buckland was deep in one of the chapters of his geologic prize
when the last speaker closed the last report and left the assembly free
to disperse. Then followed the season of congratulations: Professors,
students, and the friendly public mingled in a _conversazione_. A
nucleus of vivacious intercourse formed at the spot where young Mr.
Chilvers stood amid trophies of examinational prowess. When his
numerous relatives had all shaken hands with him, and laughed, smiled,
or smirked their felicitations, they made way for the press of eager
acquaintances. His prize library was reverently surveyed, and many were
the sportive sallies elicited by the victor's obvious inability to
carry away what he had won. Suavely exultant, ready with his reply to
every flattering address, Bruno Chilvers exhibited a social tact in
advance of his years: it was easy to imagine what he would become when
Oxford terms and the seal of ordination had matured his youthful
promise.
At no great distance stood his competitor, Godwin Peak embarrassed, he
also, with wealth of spoils; but about this young man was no concourse
of admiring kinsfolk. No lady offered him her hand or shaped
compliments for him with gracious lips. Half-a-dozen fellow-students,
among them John Earwaker, talked in his vicinity of the day's results.
Peak's part in the gossip was small, and when he smiled it was in a
forced, anxious way, with brief raising of his eyes. For a moment only
was the notice of a wider circle directed upon him when Dr Nares,
moving past with a train of colloquial attendants, turned aside to
repeat his praise of the young man's achievements in Philosophy: he
bestowed a kindly shake of the hand, and moved on.
The Warricombe group descended, in purposeless fashion, towards the
spot where Chilvers held his court. Their personal acquaintance with
Bruno and his family was slight, and though Mrs. Warricombe would
gladly have pushed forward to claim recognition, natural diffidence
restrained her. Sidwell kept in the rear, risking now and then a glance
of vivid curiosity on either hand. Buckland, striving not to look
petulant or sullen, allowed himself to be led on; but when he became
aware of the tendency Bruno-wards, a protest broke from him.
'There's no need to swell that fellow's conceit. Here, father, come and
have a word with Peak; he looks rather down in the mouth among his
second prizes.'
Mr. Warricombe having beckoned his companions, they reluctantly
followed to the more open part of the hall.
'It's very generous of Buckland,' fell from the lady's lips, and she at
length resolved to show an equal magnanimity. Peak and Earwaker were
conversing together when Buckland broke in upon them with genial
outburst.
'Confound it, Peak! what do you mean by getting me stuck into a
bracket?'
'I had the same question to ask _you_,' returned the other, with a grim
smile.
Mr. Warricombe came up with extended hand.
'A species of bracket,' he remarked, smiling benevolently, 'which no
algebraic process will remove. Let us hope it signifies that you and
Buckland will work through life shoulder to shoulder in the field of
geology. What did Professor Gale give you?'
Before he could reply, Peak had to exchange greetings with Mrs
Warricombe and her daughter. Only once hitherto had he met them. Six
months ago he had gone out with Buckland to the country-house and
passed an afternoon there, making at the time no very favourable
impression on his hostess. He was not of the young men who easily
insinuate themselves into ladies' affections: his exterior was against
him, and he seemed too conscious of his disadvantages in that
particular. Mrs. Warricombe found it difficult to shape a few civil
phrases for the acceptance of the saturnine student. Sidwell, repelled
and in a measure alarmed by his bilious countenance, could do no more
than grant him her delicately gloved fingers. Peak, for his part, had
nothing to say. He did not even affect an interest in these persons,
and turned his eyes to follow the withdrawing Earwaker. Mr. Warricombe,
however, had found topic for discourse in the prize volume; he began to
comment on the excellence of certain sections of the book.
'Do you go home?' interrupted Buckland, addressing the question to his
rival. 'Or do you stay in Kingsmill until the First B.A.?'
'I shall go home,' replied Peak, moving uneasily.
'Perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing you at Thornhaw when you
are up again for the examination?' said Mrs. Warricombe, with faltering
tongue.
'I'm afraid I shan't be able to come, thank you,' was the awkward
response.
Buckland's voice came to the relief.
'I daresay I may look in upon you at your torture. Good luck, old
fellow! If we don't see each other again, write to me at Trinity before
the end of the year.'
As soon as she was sufficiently remote, Mrs. Warricombe ejaculated in a
subdued voice of irritation:
'Such a very unprepossessing young man I never met! He seems to have no
breeding whatever.'
'Overweighted with brains,' replied her husband; adding to himself,
'and by no means so with money, I fear.'
Opportunity at length offering, Mrs. Warricombe stepped into the circle
irradiated by Bruno Chilvers; her husband and Sidwell pressed after.
Buckland, with an exclamation of disgust, went off to criticise the
hero among a group of his particular friends.
Godwin Peak stood alone. On the bench where he had sat were heaped the
prize volumes (eleven in all, some of them massive), and his wish was
to make arrangements for their removal. Gazing about him, he became
aware of the College librarian, with whom he was on friendly terms.
'Mr. Poppleton, who would pack and send these books away for me?'
'An _embarras de richesse_!' laughed the librarian. 'If you like to
tell the porter to take care of them for the present, I shall be glad
to see that they are sent wherever you like.'
Peak answered with a warmth of acknowledgment which seemed to imply
that he did not often receive kindnesses. Before long he was free to
leave the College, and at the exit he overtook Earwaker, who carried a
brown paper parcel.
'Come and have some tea with me across the way, will you?' said the
literary prizeman. 'I have a couple of hours to wait for my train.'
'All right. I envy you that five-volume Spenser.'
'I wish they had given me five authors I don't possess instead. I think
I shall sell this.'
Earwaker laughed as he said it--a strange chuckle from deep down in his
throat. A comparison of the young men, as they walked side by side,
showed that Peak was of better physical type than his comrade. Earwaker
had a slight, unshapely body and an ill-fitting head; he walked with
excessive strides and swung his thin arm nervously. Probably he was the
elder of the two, and he looked twenty. For Peak's disadvantages of
person, his studious bashfulness and poverty of attire were mainly
responsible. With improvement in general health even his features might
have a tolerable comeliness, or at all events would not be
disagreeable. Earwaker's visage was homely, and seemed the more so for
his sprouting moustache and beard.
'Have you heard any talk about Walsh?' the latter inquired, as they
walked on.
Peak shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh.
'No. Have you?'
'Some women in front of me just now were-evidently discussing him. I
heard "How shocking!" and "Disgraceful!"'
Peak's eyes flashed, and he exclaimed in a voice of wrath:
'Besotted idiots! How I wish I were in Walsh's position! How I should
enjoy standing up before the crowd of fools and seeing their fear of
me! But I couldn't keep it to myself; I should give in to the
temptation to call them blockheads and jackasses.'
Earwaker was amused at his friend's vehemence. He sympathised with it,
but had an unyouthful sobriety in the expression of his feelings.
'Most likely he despises them far too much to be disturbed by what they
think of him. But, I say, isn't it desperately comical that one human
being can hate and revile another because they think differently about
the origin of the universe? Couldn't you roar with laughter when you've
thought over it for a moment? "You be damned for your theory of
irregular verbs!" is nothing to it.' And he uttered his croak of mirth,
whilst Peak, with distorted features, laughed in rage and scorn.
They had crossed the open space in front of the College buildings, and
were issuing into the highway, when a voice very unlike those that were
wont to sound within the academic precincts (or indeed in the streets
of Kingsmill) made sudden demand upon Peak's attention.
'Thet you, Godwin? Thoughts I, it must be 'im! 'Ow goes it, my bo-oy?
You 'ardly reckonise me, I dessay, and I couldn't be sure as it was you
till I'd 'ed a good squint at yer. I've jest called round at your
lodgin's, and they towld me as you was at the Collige.'
He who thus accosted the student, with the most offensive purity of
Cockney accent, was a man of five-and-forty, dressed in a new suit of
ready-made tweeds, the folding crease strongly marked down the front of
the trousers and the coat sleeves rather too long. His face bore a
strong impress of vulgarity, but at the same time had a certain
ingenuousness, a self-absorbed energy and simplicity, which saved it
from being wholly repellent; the brow was narrow, the eyes small and
bright, and the coarse lips half hid themselves under a struggling
reddish growth. In these lineaments lurked a family resemblance to
Godwin Peak, sufficient to support a claim of kindred which at this
moment might have seemed improbable. At the summons of recognition
Godwin stood transfixed; his arms fell straight, and his head drew back
as if to avoid a blow. For an instant he was clay colour, then a hot
flush broke upon his cheeks.
'I shan't be able to go with you,' he said, in a thick, abrupt voice,
addressing Earwaker but not regarding him. 'Good-bye!'
The other offered his hand and, without speaking, walked away.
'Prize-dye at the Collige, they tell me,' pursued Godwin's relative,
looking at a cluster of people that passed. 'What 'ave you took?'
'One or two class-prizes,' replied the student, his eyes on the ground.
'Shall we walk to my lodgings?'
'I thought you might like to walk me over the show. But pr'aps you're
in a 'urry?'
'No, no. But there's nothing particular to see. I think the
lecture-rooms are closed by now.'
'Oo's the gent as stands there?--the figger, I mean.'
'Sir Job Whitelaw, founder of the College.'
'Job, eh? And was you a-goin' 'ome to yer tea, Godwin?'
'Yes.'
'Well, then, look 'ere, 'spose we go to the little shop opposyte--nice
little plyce it looks. I could do a cup o' tea myself, and we can 'ev a
quite confab. It's a long time since we'ed a talk together. I come over
from Twybridge this mornin'; slep' there last night, and saw yer mother
an' Oliver. They couldn't give me a bed, but that didn't mike no
matter; I put up at the Norfolk Harms--five-an-six for bed an'
breakfast. Come along, my bo-oy; I stand treat.'
Godwin glanced about him. From the College was approaching what seemed
to be a formal procession; it consisted of Bruno Chilvers, supported on
either hand by ladies and followed by an admiring train.
'You had better come to my lodgings with me, uncle,' said the young man
hurriedly, moving forward.
'No, no; I won't be no expense to you, Godwin, bo-oy. And I 'ave a
reason for wantin' to go to the little shop opposyte.'
Already several collegians had passed, giving Peak a nod and scanning
his companion; a moment's delay and Chilvers would be upon him. Without
another word, Godwin moved across the broad street to the place of
refreshment which his uncle had indicated, and whither Earwaker had
preceded them. It was a pastry-cook's, occasionally visited by the
alumni of Whitelaw. In the rear of the shop a little room offered seats
and tables, and here, Godwin knew, Earwaker would be found.
'Let us go up-stairs,' he said, leading to a side entrance. 'There's a
quieter room.'
'Right you are!'
The uncle--his name was Andrew Peak--paused to make a survey of the
premises. When he entered, his scrutiny of the establishment was close,
and he seemed to reflect with interest upon all he saw. The upper room
was empty; a long table exhibited knives and forks, but there were no
signs of active business. Andrew pulled a bell-rope; the summons was
answered by an asthmatic woman, who received an order for tea, toast,
'watercreases', and sundry other constituents of a modest meal.
'Come 'ere often, Godwin?' inquired Andrew, as he stood by the window
and mused.
'Now and then, for a bun.'
'Much custom from your show over the wye?'
'Not so much as a better place would have.'
'Young gents don't live at the Collige, they tell me?'
'No, there's no residence.'
'So naturally they want a plyce where they can 'ev a nibble, somewheres
'andy?'
'Yes. We have to go further into the town for a decent dinner.'
'Jest what I thought!' exclaimed Andrew, slapping his leg. 'With a
establishment like that opposyte, there'd ought to be a medium-sized
Spiers & Pond at this 'ere street corner for any man as knows 'is wye
about. That's _my_ idea, Godwin--see?'
Peak had as yet given but half an ear to his relative's discourse; he
had answered mechanically, and only now was constrained to serious
attention by a note of meaning in the last interrogative. He looked at
the speaker; and Andrew, in the manner of one accustomed to regard life
as a game of cunning, first winked with each eye, then extended one
cheek with the pressure of his tongue. Sickened with disgust, Godwin
turned suddenly away,--a movement entirely lost upon his uncle, who
imagined the young man to be pondering a fruitful suggestion.
'I don't mind tellin' you, Godwin,' pursued Andrew presently, in a
cautious voice, laying an open hand against his trousers-pocket, 'as
I've been a-doin' pretty good business lytely. Been growin' a bit--see?
I'm runnin' round an' keepin' my heyes open understand? Thoughts I,
now, if I could come acrosst a nicet little openin', somethink in the
rest'rant line, _that's_ what 'ud sewt me jest about down to the
ground. I'm cut out for it--see? I've got the practical experience, and
I've got the capital; and as soon as I got a squint of this little
corner shop--understand what I mean?'
His eyes gleamed with eagerness which was too candid for the typically
vulgar mind. In his self-satisfaction he exhibited a gross cordiality
which might have made rather an agreeable impression on a person
otherwise disinterested.
At this point the asthmatic woman reappeared, carrying a laden tray.
Andrew at once entered into conversation with her, framing his remarks
and queries so as to learn all he could concerning the state of the
business and the disposition of its proprietors. His nephew, meanwhile,
stung to the core with shame, kept apart, as if amusing himself with
the prospect from the window, until summoned to partake of the meal.
His uncle expressed contempt of everything laid before them.
'_This_ ain't no wye of caterin' for young gents at Collige!' he
exclaimed. 'If there ain't a openin' 'ere, then I never see one.
Godwin, bo-oy, 'ow much longer'll it be before you're out of you're
time over there?'
'It's uncertain--I can't say.'
'But ain't it understood as you stay till you've passed the top
standard, or whatever it's called?'
'I really haven't made up my mind what to do.'
'But you'll be studyin' 'ere for another twelve months, I dessay?'
'Why do you ask?'
'Why? cos s'posin' I got 'old o' this 'ere little shop, or another like
it close by, me an' you might come to an understandin'--see? It might
be worth your while to give a 'int to the young gents as you're in
with--eh?'
Godwin was endeavouring to masticate a piece of toast, but it turned to
sawdust upon his palate. Of a sudden, when the bilious gloom of his
countenance foretold anything but mirth, he burst into hard laughter.
Andrew smote him jovially on the back.
'Tickles you, eh, bo-oy? "Peak's Refreshment an' Dinin' Rooms!"
Everything tip-top, mind; respectable business, Godwin; nothing for
nobody to be ashamed of--_that_ wouldn't do, of course.'
The young man's laughter ended as abruptly as it had begun, but his
visage was no longer clouded with bitter misery. A strange indifference
seemed to have come upon him, and whilst the speculative uncle talked
away with increasing excitement, he ate and drank heedlessly.
'Mother expects you to-morrow, she tells me,' said Andrew, when his
companion's taciturnity had suggested a change of topic. 'Shouldn't
wonder if you see me over at Twybridge again before long. I was to
remember your awnt and your cousin Jowey to you. You wouldn't know
Jowey? the sharpest lad of his age as ever I knowed, is Jowey. Your
father 'ud a' took a delight in 'im, if 'e'd lived, that 'e would.'
For a quarter of an hour or so the dialogue was concerned with domestic
history. Godwin gave brief reply to many questions, but asked none, not
even such as civility required. The elder man, however, was unaffected
by this reticence, and when at length his nephew pleaded an engagement
as excuse for leave-taking he shook hands with much warmth. The two
parted close by the shop, and Godwin, casting a glance at the now
silent College, walked hastily towards his lodgings.