A Man's Man

by Ian Hay

  A MAN'S MAN

  CHAPTER I

  NAVAL MANOEUVRES

  A University college varies its facial expression about as frequently asThe Sphinx and about as violently as a treacle-well.

  This remark specially applies between the hours of breakfast andluncheon. The courts, with their monastic cloisters and inviolablegrassplots, lie basking in a sunny obliviousness to the world outside.Their stately exclusiveness is accentuated rather than diminished by theglimpse of an occasional flying figure in a cap and gown, or thespectacle of a middle-aged female of a discreet and chastenedappearance, who glides respectfully from one archway to another,carrying a broom and a tin pail, or--alas for the goings-on that acloistered cell may conceal behind its art-muslin curtains!--a tankardcontaining some gentleman's morning ale.

  In one corner, close to the Buttery door, you may behold one of thecollege cats, which appears to be combining a searching morning toiletwith a course of practical calisthenics; and inside the massive arch ofthe gateway stands a majestic figure in a tall hat, whom appreciativeAmericans usually mistake for the Master, but who in reality occupiesthe far more onerous and responsible post of Head Porter.

  Perhaps the greatest variation from the normal is to be observed on aSaturday morning. Then the scene is brightened by the vision of anoccasional washerwoman, who totters bravely at one end of a heavybasket, what time her lord and master (who has temporarily abandoned hisfavourite street-corner and donned Sabbath attire for this, his weeklycontribution to the work of the world) sulkily supports the other.

  Undergraduates, too, are more in evidence than on other days. On mostmornings they either stay indoors, to work or sleep, or else go outsidethe college altogether. "Loitering" in the courts is not encouraged bythe authorities. Not that the undergraduate minds that; but it willprobably cost him half-a-crown every time he does so, not because heloiters but because he smokes.

  The Old Court of St. Benedict's College--it is hardly necessary to saythat we are in Cambridge and not in Oxford: otherwise we should havesaid "Quad"--presents to us on the present occasion a very fair sampleof a Saturday morning crowd. The observant eye of the Dean, looking down(like Jezebel) from an upper chamber, can discern--

  1. Three washerwomen, with the appurtenances thereof.

  2. One small boy delivering _The Granta_.

  3. A solitary spectacled gentleman, of the type described by theUniversity Calendar in stately periphrasis as "A Native of Asia, not ofEuropean Parentage" (but more tersely classified by the rest of thecommunity as "a nigger"), hurrying in cap and gown to secure a goodplace at the feet of some out-of-college Gamaliel.

  4. A kitchen-man in white jacket and apron, bearing upon his head a traycontaining a salmon mayonnaise, cutlets in aspic, and a specialCambridge dainty known as "Grassy Corner Pudding"--a fearsome compoundof whipped cream and pistachio nuts.

  5. A Buttery boy, walking close behind, with a basket containingbottles. Evidently some young gentleman is about to entertainangels--unawares so far as his bill-paying papa is concerned.

  6. Four young men converging to a group in the centre of the court. Ofthese, two are attired in the undergraduate mode of the moment--tweedjackets with leather buttons, waistcoats of the Urim and Thummimvariety, grey flannel trousers well turned up, clamorous silk socks, andheavy Highland shooting brogues. The third wears what the CollegeRegulations describe rather ingenuously as "Athletic Dress."Pheidippides himself would have found it difficult to perform feats ofprowess in a costume composed of split pumps, white duck trousers, and ablazer admirably qualified to serve as a model of the Solar Spectrum.

  It may be mentioned in passing that, to the College Regulations,"Athletic Dress" is not in itself a costume in which it is possible toperform athletic feats, but one whose colour-scheme clashes with the_sub-fusc_ standard which obtains in all college courts until one P.M.;such, in fact, as would tend to distract the eye and sap the diligenceof those who traverse the courts on their way to lectures. Inconsequence, he who would be matutinally athletic must either keep hiswarpaint somewhere out of college, or drape himself like a stageconspirator as he flits from his rooms to the river or Fenner's.

  The fourth gentleman of the party was dressed, if not gorgeously,sufficiently respectably to warrant the assumption that he was not amember of the University.

  All four were smoking.

  The Dean, glancing in the direction of the gateway, and observing withsardonic satisfaction that the watchful Cerberus there was taking a noteof the delinquency, returned to his work. Regardless of the prospectiveloss of half-a-crown apiece, the undergraduates exchanged cheerfulgreetings.

  "Hallo, Dishy-Washy!"

  "Hallo, Gussie!"

  "Hallo, Towzer!"

  There ensued an awkward pause, while Messrs. Gussie and Towzer,nervously conscious of the presence of a stranger to whom they wereabout to be presented, looked intently at their boots and waited for theintroduction to take place.

  The gentleman previously addressed as Dishy-Washy, a diminutive youthwith wizened features,--his name was Dishart-Watson,--cleared histhroat.

  "Introduce my brother," he said huskily. "Mr. Poltimore--Mr. Angus!"

  The gentlemen indicated shook hands with the visitor, and Mr. Angus,after a mental effort, inquired:--

  "Come to see us go Head?"

  He giggled deprecatingly, to show that he did not really mean this.

  "Hope so," said Dishy-Washy's brother politely. "I hear you've got apretty hot crew," he added.

  "First chop," said Mr. Poltimore. "You just arrived?"

  "Yes; down from town this morning."

  "Oh! live there?"

  "Er--yes."

  "Oxford man," interpolated Dishy-Washy swiftly. "Sent down," he added inextenuation.

  The other two nodded sympathetically, and the conversation proceededmore briskly.

  "_Are_ you going to catch those chaps to-night, Dishy?" inquired Mr.Angus earnestly.

  "Don't know," replied Dishy-Washy, who as coxswain of the St. Benedict'sboat enjoyed a position of authority and esteem in inverse ratio to hisinches. "Duncombe's a good enough little oar, but you can't expect a manwho weighs nine stone ten to stroke the boat and pull it along too. Ofcourse, if we had anything we could call a Six! As for old Puffin--"

  "Fourteen stone of tripe!" interpolated Mr. Angus, the gentleman inAthletic Dress. "Lord help the boat!" he added bitterly.

  It may be mentioned in passing that Mr. Angus's athletic achievementswere rather overstated by his costume. His blazer was that of a collegeclub of twelve members, admission to which was strictly limited togentlemen who could absorb a gallon of beer at a draught, and whosefirst rule stated that any member who committed the _betise_ of taking adegree, however humble, should pay to the club a fine of five pounds.

  "Still," said Towzer hopefully, "there's always Marrable."

  Everybody--even the gentleman who had been sent down fromOxford--cheered up at this reflection.

  "By gum!" said the coxswain with sudden enthusiasm, "he's a wonder! Youshould have seen him in the boat yesterday. He was rowing a blade thatsimply lifted the whole of bow side along by itself; and besides that hewas coaching Stroke all the time--telling him when to swing out and whento quicken, and bucking him up generally; and on the top of all that hefound time every now and then to turn round and curse old Six. I tellyou, he's a wonder. Did you hear about him last night?"

  "I did hear some yarn," said Angus. "Went and smashed up The Owls,didn't he?"

  "Smashed up?" Dishy's saturnine features expanded into a smile that wasalmost benevolent. "My lad, _have_ you seen Muggeridge's alabaster browthis morning?"

  Mr. Muggeridge was the president of "The Owls" Wine Club.

  "No."

  "Well, last night I was going round about half-past ten to see that allthe crew were in their beds. When I came to H, New Court, I found adevil of a row going on in Muggerid
ge's rooms--directly underDuncombe's, you know."

  "Yes. Go on," said all, much interested.

  "There was a meeting of The Owls on," continued Dishy, "and they'd hadthe nerve to hold it on a staircase where there were actually two men ofthe crew--Duncombe and Eversley--trying to get to sleep."

  "What did you do?" inquired Poltimore.

  "Went in and reminded them. I thought they might have forgotten."

  "What did they say?"

  "They told me to go to--"

  "Good Lord!" said the audience, genuinely horrified at the employment ofsuch language by a non-athletic to an athletic man.

  The Owls were a collection of rather dissipated young nobodies, whileDishy wore a Leander tie, which in a rowing college entitles a man tosomething like reverence.

  "I soon found it was a put-up job," continued the coxswain. "They hadsome grudge against Duncombe, and wanted to score him off. I could hearhim hammering on his bedroom floor above to make them dry up."

  "What did you do then?"

  "I explained to them exactly what I thought of them," replied thecoxswain simply.

  "What did you say, exactly?"

  Dishy told them. They smacked their lips appreciatively, and the nextquestion followed pat.

  "And what did _they_ do?"

  "Well, they were a bit far gone--"

  "Drunken sweeps!" remarked the virtuous Gussie, who belonged to a rivalinstitution.

  "Yes. They were a bit far gone," repeated the coxswain, with the air ofone endeavouring to explain an otherwise unaccountable circumstance,"and they--well, they hove me out, in fact. There were nine of them," headded, in the manner of one who is not quite sure if his excuse will beaccepted.

  "And then?"

  "Then I went straight off to old Hughie's rooms"--there was a respectfulintaking of breath by the company: most of the College were wont torefer to the gentleman in question as Marrable--"and knocked him up. Hehad just gone to bed."

  "What did he do?" came the question, in lively anticipation of therecital to come.

  "Put on a few things over his pyjamas, and came along with me."

  The audience sighed ecstatically.

  "What happened?" said Poltimore.

  "Well, things were getting a bit lively by the time we arrived. Just aswe got to the foot of the stair we were greeted by Muggeridge's oak,which some playful fellow had taken off its hinges and thrown over thebanisters. However, we dodged that and raced up to the first floor.

  "You could have heard a pin drop when we walked into the room. One ortwo of them looked a bit green, though, when they saw what a toweringpassion Hughie was in. Still, Muggeridge was sober enough, and tried totalk it off. He stood up, and said, 'Hallo, Marrable! This is splendid!You are just in time to drink to the success of the crew to-morrow.We're all sportsmen here. Come on, you chaps--no heeltaps!'

  "He stood waving his glass, but anybody could see that he was in aputrid funk.

  "Hughie shut the door behind him and leaned against it, and said:--

  "'Muggeridge, I don't know you very intimately, but I know this, thatyou always were a worm and a bounder. You can't altogether help that,and personally I don't particularly mind, although you give the Collegeaway a bit. Still, I think the College can bear that. You are quite atliberty to get full and amuse yourself in any way you please, so long asyou and your pals don't interfere with other people. But when it comesto disturbing my crew, who have to fight the battles of the College onbehalf of warriors like you and these gentlemen here, whose favouritefield-sport is probably billiards--well, that's just what I call a bit_too_ thick!'

  "All this time Muggeridge was looking pretty averagely uncomfortable.The other chaps were gazing at him, evidently waiting for a lead. Butyou could see he was pretty well up a stump as to what to do next.However, next time old Hughie paused for breath, he said:--

  "'Oh, get out!'

  "It was a rotten thing to say. Hughie smiled at him.

  "'All right,' he said, 'but I must put you to bed before I go.'

  "Before anybody could do anything he was across the room and had a gripof Muggeridge by the back of the neck and one wrist, which he twistedround behind somehow. Then he turned him round, and kicked him all theway across the room into his bedroom. He used Muggeridge's head as asort of battering-ram to open the door with. Oh, it was the mostgorgeous spectacle!"

  There was a little sigh of rapture all round the group.

  Muggeridge was a prominent member of that class of society whichundergraduates and other healthy and outspoken Philistines designatesimply and comprehensively as "Tishbites" or "Tishes."

  "He shut him in and locked the door," continued the coxswain, "and thenhe turned on the other eight. They were a pretty average lot ofworms--you know them?"

  There was a murmur of assent, and Mr. Poltimore, with rather belatedpresence of mind, hurriedly explained to the Oxford gentleman that theband of heroes under discussion were not in any sense representative ofthe rank and file of the College.

  "--And they just sat round the table looking perfectly paralytic. (As amatter of fact most of them were.) Hughie laid hold of the biggest ofthem--Skeffington--and said:--

  "'This meeting is adjourned, gentlemen. Just to show you that I'mspeaking the truth, I'll heave the senior member present downstairs!'"

  "Did he?" asked everybody.

  "No. He'd have killed him if he had. He picked Skeff up by the collarand the seat of his bags and said to me, 'Watch 'em, Dishy!' Then hecarried Skeff downstairs, and slugged him into the middle of the grassplot outside."

  "Good egg!" murmured Mr. Angus.

  "Didn't the others try to bolt?" inquired Towzer.

  "The idea _was_ mooted," replied the coxswain loftily, "but I told themto sit still or they'd get their silly heads knocked together."

  "Did he cart them all downstairs?"

  "No; it would have been too tame a job with such a set of mangy squirts.He simply came back and said:--

  "'Now, you miserable little snipes, I give you fifteen seconds to quitthese premises. The last man out will be personally assisted downstairsby me. I'm sorry I've only got slippers on.' Still, he landed theHonourable Hopton-Hattersley a very healthy root for all that,"concluded Dishy, with a seraphic smile. "After that the porter arrivedwith the Dean's compliments, and it was past the hour for music,gentlemen; but Hughie slapped him on the back and told him that he hadarrived too late for the fair. Then he went home to bed as cool as acucumber. Oh, he's--Hallo, there he is! I must catch him. So long, youmen! See you at lunch, Reggie."

  And Mr. Dishart-Watson, swelling with importance, hurried off toovertake a figure which had swung out of a distant staircase in thesouthwest corner of the court and was striding towards the gateway.

  There was no undergraduate slouchiness discernible either in the dressor in the appearance of the Captain of the St. Benedict's boat. He was astrong-limbed, clean-run young man of about twenty-one; perhaps a trifletoo muscular to be a quick mover, but, with his broad back and sinewyloins, an ideally built rowing-man. He was a youth of rather gravecountenance, with shrewd blue eyes which had a habit of disappearinginto his head when he laughed, and a mouth in which, during these sameperiods of exhilaration, his friends confidently asserted that you couldpost a letter. He was a born leader of men, and, as the discerningreader will have gathered from Mr. Dishart-Watson's narrative, was stillstrongly imbued with what may be called public-school principles ofjustice. He entirely refused to suffer fools gladly or even resignedly,but had a kindly nod for timorous freshmen, a friendly salute for thoseDons who regarded undergraduates as an integral part of the scheme ofcollege life and not merely as a necessary evil, and a courtly good-dayfor fluttered and appreciative bedmakers. He never forgot the faces ornames of any of those over him or under him--Dons and college servants,that is; and further, in his own walk of life (a society in which youmay recognise the existence of no man, even though he daily passes youthe salt or gathers you under his arm in the familiarit
y of a Rugbyscrummage, until you have been formally introduced to him), he neverpretended to do so.

  While Mr. Dishy-Washy's short legs are endeavouring to bring himalongside the striding Olympian in front, it will perhaps be well toexplain why it was so absolutely essential to the welfare of St.Benedict's College that eight young men should enjoy a night's restuntrammelled by revels on the floors below.

  For the benefit of those who have never made a study of that refinementof torture known as a "bumping" race, it may be mentioned that at Oxfordand Cambridge the various College crews, owing to the narrowness oftheir rivers, race not abreast but in a long string, each boat beingseparated from its pursuer and pursued by an equal space. Every crewwhich succeeds in rowing over the course without being caught (or"bumped") by the boat behind it is said to have "kept its place," andstarts in the same position for the next day's racing. But if itcontrives to touch the boat in front, it is said to have made a "bump,"and both bumper and bumped get under the bank with all speed and allowthe rest of the procession to race past. Next day bumper and bumpedchange places, and the victors of the day before endeavour to repeattheir performance at the expense of the next boat in front of them. Thecrew at "the head of the river" have, of course, nothing to catch, andcan accordingly devote their attention to keeping away from Number Two,which is usually in close attendance owing to the pressing attention ofNumber Three. And so on.

  The racing takes place during four successive evenings in the May Week,so called for the somewhat inadequate reason that it occurs in June. Itwas now Saturday, the last day of the races, and the men of St.Benedict's knew that an enormous effort must be made that evening. Sofar they had made two bumps, comparatively easily. Starting from fourthplace they were now second on the river, and only the All Saints boatstood between them and the haven where they would be. They had triedlast night to bring their foe down, but had failed; they were going totry again to-night, but All Saints were a terribly strong crew. They hadbeen Head for five years, and there were four Blues in the boat. Publicopinion admitted that St. Benedict's were about the fastest crew on theriver that year, but considered that a seasoned lot like All Saintscould keep on spurting away long enough to last out the course.

  "Unless, of course," people said, "unless Marrable does something extraspecial."

  It was wonderful what a lot the world in general seemed to expect ofMarrable. Character counts for something even among the very young; andthere is no more youthful member of society than the undergraduate. Thesixth-form boy is a Nestor compared with him.

  Meanwhile our diminutive friend Dishy, the coxswain, had succeeded inovertaking his captain, just as that great man stepped into a hansom inTrinity Street.

  "Where are you off to, Hughie?" he panted.

  "Station."

  "People?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'm coming with you. I'll cut away before you meet her."

  Dishy was one of the few who dared to address Marrable in this strain.

  The two installed themselves in the hansom, and while the experiencedanimal between the shafts proceeded down Trinity Street, butting its waythrough sauntering pedestrians, pushing past country-parsonicalgoverness carts, taking dogs in its stride, and shrinking apprehensivelyfrom motor-bicycles ridden by hatless youths in bedroom slippers, theydiscussed affairs of state.

  "There's only one way to do it, Dishy," said Marrable. "I'm goingstroke."

  Dishy nodded approvingly.

  "It's the only thing to do," he said. "But who is going to rowseven--Stroke?"

  "Yes."

  "Bow-side will go to pieces," said Dishy with conviction.

  "Perhaps. But as things are at present stroke side will."

  "That's true," admitted the coxswain. "Let's see now: there'll be youstroke, Duncombe seven, Puffin six--it's worth trying anyhow. We'rebound to keep away from the James' people, so we might as well have ashot."

  "Clear out now," said Marrable, "and go round and tell the men to be atthe boathouse by four, and we'll have a ten minutes' outing in the neworder. Then, when you've done that, cut down to the boathouse and tellJerry to alter my stretcher and Duncombe's."

  These commands involved a full hour's excessive activity in a hot sun onthe part of Mr. Dishart-Watson; but Marrable was not the man to sparehimself or his subordinates when occasion demanded.

  The coxswain descended to the step of the hansom and clung to thesplash-board as he received his last instructions.

  "And tell Jerry," added Marrable, "to get down a new stroke-side oar,with a good six-inch blade. Duncombe's has been shaved down to atooth-pick."

  Dishy nodded cheerfully and dropped off into the traffic.

  "The old man means business. We shall go Head now," he murmured tohimself with simple confidence. "All right, sir, my fault entirely.Don't apologise!"

  And leaving an inverted motor-cyclist, who had run into him from behind,to congest the traffic and endure laceration from his own stillfaithfully revolving pedals, the coxswain of the St. Benedict's boatproceeded at a brisk pace back to his College, there to inform a sorelytried troupe of seven that, owing to an eleventh-hour change in thecast, a full-dress rehearsal of their evening's performance had beencalled for four o'clock sharp.