Godfrey Marten, Undergraduate. Charles Turley

had advised, and Clarkson saw me in a rage, which must have been very good for him. For a solid hour I unpacked things which I had thought beautiful in my study at Cliborough and put them about my room, but somehow or other most of them did not seem as beautiful as I had thought them, and there was a picture—I had won it in a shilling raffle, and been very proud of it—which filled me with sorrow. It had been painted by the sister of a fellow at Cliborough, and when he was frightfully hard-up he arranged a raffle, and everybody said I was jolly lucky to win it. I was even bid fifteen shillings for the picture by the original owner, but as I suspected that he wanted to get up another raffle I refused the offer. When I saw the thing hanging on my wall I wished that I had not been such a fool. Having got the thing I did not like to waste it, but if some one would have come in and stuck a knife into it I should have been very pleased. The name of this burden was "A Last Night at Sea," and the subjects represented were a small boat and two or three people huddled together at one end of it, while in the middle of the boat a woman with long streaming hair was stretching out her arms towards a terrific wave. If I had not remembered the name it might not have been so bad, but under the circumstances no one could say that it was a cheerful thing to live with. I suppose the satisfaction of having it in my study at Cliborough had been enough, for I did not recollect having looked at it before, and when a lot of fellows are swarming around saying what a lucky chap you are to have won a thing, it is not very likely to give you the blues then, whatever it may have in store for you afterwards. I turned "A Last Night at Sea" with its face to the wall and went on decorating my room. Photographs of my father and mother which I put on my mantelpiece made me feel rather better, but Nina resplendent in a green plush frame made me think again. I had been very proud of that frame some years before when Nina had given it to me; she had sold two rabbits and borrowed sixpence from Miss Read, her governess, to buy it, and it had never occurred to me that I could grow out of my admiration for green plush. The question of what to do with it puzzled me tremendously; I didn't want to treat Nina badly but the frame was an abomination. Fortunately there was a ring attached to the frame and I hung it up in a dark corner, but I promised myself that it should come out the following morning.

      I had just sat down to survey my labours when Murray came in and proposed we should go for a walk in the town, and as I was perfectly sick of my room I was quite ready to go. Although the time was barely four o'clock and the sun doesn't set for another hour in the middle of October, it was half dark and drizzling with rain as we walked down Turl Street and came into The High. But I had got rid of my gloom and was eager to spend money. I did not quite know what I wanted but that was not of much consequence. We went into a shop which seemed to be exactly the place for any one who wished to buy things, and did not care much what he bought. Before I came out of it I had bought two chairs, a standard lamp, a small book-case, an enormous bowl—which got in my way for two years until somebody smashed it—a tea-set, a small table and half-a-dozen china shepherdesses. I then went to other shops and made more purchases, while Murray looked on and smiled until I was waylaid by an accommodating man in the Cornmarket, who wanted to sell me a fox-terrier pup, and was ready to keep it for me if I had no place for it; and then I was told not to be a fool. That man's opinion of Murray is not worth mentioning.

      When we got back to college it was past five o'clock, and between us we managed to find everything that was necessary for tea. I had a fire in my room, but Murray had not one in his; he had tea-cups, but I had none; while I had things to eat, which our cook at home had declared would be useful and I had most reluctantly brought with me. We were in the middle of this very substantial meal when Fred Foster came in, and from his glance round my room I saw that he thought it was a fairly dismal spot.

      "Rather like an up-stairs dungeon," I said. "Have you got a better place than this?"

      "It is bigger and not so stuffy," he answered; "but it won't make you very jealous."

      "You wait until I have got all the things I have just bought, and then you will think this no end of a place," I remarked.

      "If any one can get inside," Murray put in.

      "It will be rather a squash," I admitted; "I've spent over twelve pounds already."

      "That's just the sort of thing you would do," Foster said.

      We sat and talked for an hour until Ward burst in, knocking and opening the door at the same moment.

      Murray and Foster had been getting on splendidly together, but directly Ward came they hardly said a word. Possibly they did not get much chance, but any one could see that Foster had taken a dislike to Ward at sight.

      Murray went away very soon and left the three of us together.

      "I've been over to Woodstock in a dog-cart with Bunny Langham and Bob Fraser," Ward said. "By Jove, that cob of Bunny's can move. We got back in five-and-twenty minutes."

      As I didn't know how far it was to Woodstock and didn't care, I said nothing, so Ward went on, "Bunny's a rare good sort; you ought to meet him."

      "What college is he at?" I asked.

      "At the House—Christchurch, you know." I did know, and thought the explanation cheek. "I have hired a gee from Carter's to-morrow, and am going to drive over to Abingdon with Bunny, will you come?"

      "To-morrow's Sunday," I said.

      "Yes, there is nothing else to do. The better the day the——" But I interrupted him.

      "Don't talk rot, I hate those things. Are you going in a dog-cart?" I asked.

      "Yes, it is Bunny's cart."

      "I am jolly well not going to sit on the back seat of a dog-cart if I can help it; I would rather go about in a perambulator," I said.

      "You are so confoundedly particular," he went on with a great guffaw of laughter, "but since it is Bunny's cart and I am going to drive I don't see how we can offer you any other seat."

      "Who the blazes is Bunny?" I asked, for his name was beginning to get on my nerves, and Fred Foster sitting as dumb as a mute was enough to upset any one.

      "I know him at home, his father is the Marquis of Tillford and his real name is Lord Augustus Langham, only his teeth stick out and every one calls him Bunny," Ward answered.

      "Heaps of money?" I said.

      "Plenty, I should think."

      "Then he is no use to me, though he may be the best fellow in the world," I declared.

      "You are a rum 'un, why he is just the sort of man who is some use."

      "That depends," Foster said suddenly.

      "Yes, it depends," I repeated, though I didn't know exactly what depended.

      "What depends?" Ward asked Foster.

      "Well, if a man hasn't got much money it is no use knowing a lot of men who have got no end."

      "It never struck me that way. Perhaps you are right," and then turning to me, he added, "Come to breakfast anyhow to-morrow morning, Bunny won't be there then."

      I promised to go, and then he left us. I walked back to Oriel with Foster and he had got a lot to say about Jack Ward. "Where in the world did you find that man?" was his first remark after we were alone.

      "He found me," I said.

      "I should lose him as soon as possible," Fred went on.

      "I don't think that would be very easy," I answered, "and I don't believe he is a bad sort really."

      "I'll bet he never came back from Woodstock in five-and-twenty minutes," Foster said.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      THE RESULT OF THE FRESHERS' MATCH

      If I had to describe in detail the first two or three weeks of my life