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to avert his gaze from its ugliness, taking
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THich is its mos FT precious possession.ill
S.Morely Scott             is
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to avert his gaze from its ugliness, taking
his fill of the one and struggling with the
other as best he can.
It is a picture of English college life which
bears well the test of comparison with "Tom
Brown." It bubbles with the gravely nonsensical concerns of carefree youth and,
without smugness, uncovers the idealism
which is its most precious possession.




David Blaize is.il.eteen and a student at
ford. He is the David of the earlier book,
wit a difference. The tumultuous younger
David, giving his energy its necessary outlet
in all manner of mischief, is still recognizable in the leader of the Great Rag and in the
pajama-d youth who undertook to navigate
his room in the dark without once touching
the floor and proceeded solemnly from bed
to piano and from piano to window-sill till
calamity overtook him. But here, too, is
another and more admirable David emerging
from the chrysalis of the hobbledehoy, a boy
who looks at life with clean young eyes,
rejoicing in its beauty but making no effort
to avert his gaze from its ugliness, taking
his fill of the one and struggling with the
other as best he can.
It is a picture of English college life which
bears well the test of comparison with "Tom
Brown." It bubbles with the gravely nonsensical concerns of carefree youth and,
without smugness, uncovers the idealism
which is its most precious possession.
























DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
E. F. BENSON




By E. F. BENSON
DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
VISIBLE AND INVISIBLE
COLIN
MISS MAPP
PETER
LOVERS AND FRIENDS
DoDo WONDERS"QUEEN LUCIA"
ROBIN LINNET
ACROSS THE STREAM
UP AND DOWN
AN AUTUMN SOWING
THE TORTOISE
DAVID BLAIZE
DAVID BLAIZE AND THE BLUE DOOR
MICHAEL
THE OAKLEYITES
ARUNDEL
OUR FAMILY AFFAIRS


New   York: George H. Doran Company




DAVID BLAIZE
OF KING'S




BY
E. F. BENSON
NEW  B   YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




COPYRIGHT, I924,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
A ---
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




CONTENTS


I


First Year.


PAGE
9


II...     135


Second Year


III.....  231


Third Year..








FIRST YEAR




I




DAVID BLAIZE
OF KING'S
First Year
I
IT would probably prove to be useless in the long
run to attempt to conceal the fact that the street
down which David Blaize was walking on this
damp and dispiriting morning in November was
the King's Parade at the University of Cambridge, or to try to delude the intelligent reader
into believing that it was Queen's Parade at Oxbridge or Prince's Parade at Camford. It was
nothing of the sort, nor was it Queen's College
Chapel that reared its fretted pinnacles so loftily
into the sombre and ugly sky, but King's College
Chapel, justly appreciated by Mr. William Wordsworth and celebrated by him in one of his more
successful sonnets. It never entered David's
head, with regard to it, to disobey Mr. Wordsworth's bidding and to tax the Royal saint, who
was responsible for it, with vain expense, for he
had no idea how much the chapel had cost, and
so could not possibly find fault with King Henry
the Sixth's extravagance. Besides it was very
pretty.
David had no cigarettes with him and wanted to
smoke so much that he would certainly have cried
9




10 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


aloud with unappeasable desire had he not, at the
moment when his need was the sorest, seen Frank
Maddox walking in the roadway some twenty
yards ahead and in the same direction as himself. Between them, and just in front of David,
was a large, convenient furniture-van also moving
that way, and so he put himself directly behind it,
found a very old golf-ball in his pocket, and
lobbed it over the furniture-van with such fortunate accuracy that it fell precisely on the toe of
Frank's right foot as he put it forward to take
a step. From his ambush David could see him
jump like a large startled fawn in a great coat,
and, standing on his left leg with the other drawn
up like a Fakir in meditation, look wildly round
to see where this inexplicable missile came from.
So the driver of the van said "Hi, Mister!" in
an offended voice, for Frank blocked his fairway.
Upon which Frank moved on, and David, still in
ambush, searched in his pockets for something
else to throw. A half-penny and some shillings
and half-crowns were the only suitable missiles
he could find, and he threw the least expensive of
these coins. This was not such a success (though
quite pleasant), for its sharp edge alighted on the
hind-quarters of the van-horse. This animal was
clearly neurasthenic and easily startled, for it
broke into a fantastic, lolloping trot.  Consequently Frank had to step on to the pavement and
the van passed him.
He turned in at the gate of King's, and as he
crossed the pavement he looked round and saw
the disclosed David. David, of course, was now
sauntering absently along, and appeared not to
perceive him till he came opposite to him. He
then executed a small, well-feigned start, and
dropped the volume of Thucydides's interesting




FIRST YEAR


11


History of the Peloponnesian War which he was
carrying into the gutter. It fell face downwards
and open.
"What a pity!" said David. "Hullo, Frank!"
"Hullo! You can't lend me an old golf-ball,
can you?"
David felt in his pockets.
" 'Fraid not. Have you got a cigarette?"
"Yes, thanks. Plenty."
"Oh, don't be humourous. Besides, it's my
birthday, and if you'll give me one, I'll-I'11 come
and dine with you this evening. Thanks awfully.
What time?"
"Oh, summer-time," said Frank.
"Right-oh! Nine o'clock then, as we're in
winter-time."
"No, seven," said Frank.
"Not if you mean eight."
Frank pulled out his watch, and put one finger
firmly on eight.
"You're perfectly idiotic," he said. "Look,
theie's eight. Well, we put our clocks on an hour
at the end of summer-time, so eight's really
seven "
"But we didn't put them on; we put them
back."
"Then we put them    on when summer-time
began, so it's the same thing...or is it nine?"
David picked up his Thucydides by the corner
of the cover, and looked about for something to
wipe it on.
"You take a piece of paper when you get in,
and work it out, " he said. "What am I to do with
this book? Oh, there's a brown horse with no
one looking after it. Just the colour of mud.
Isn't that lucky?"
David made a soothing groom-noise to the




12   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
mud-coloured horse and wiped his book tenderly
on its back.
"Been having a lecture on the plague in
Athens," he said, "and I believe it's given it
me. I'm full of the symptoms of it. If anybody
wrote such a foul description now it would be suppressed, or published privately at a high price,
and called 'very curious.' The plague began with
ineffectual retching-   "
"Are you coming into college, or are you going
to drivel?" asked Frank, thrusting his hands into
his pockets.
"Both. I say, fancy my being nineteen. It's a
great age. You know I always used to think that
by the time anyone was twenty-two or so, life
was practically over. You couldn't possibly be
fit for much then, and might as well die. So now
there are only three more years to roll in which
to do all the things I don't mean to do. I say,
there's the Provost coming, and I shall have to
put my cigarette in my pocket. Though why one
shouldn't smoke in Court I don't know."
The Provost had something to say to Frank,
and stood talking for a few minutes. Out of
David's coat-pocket where he held his concealed
cigarette there oozed thin blue whorls of smoke.
The Provost perceived this, and with a pleasant
contralto hoot of laughter made an apt Homeric
quotation, which David didn't catch, and passed
on.
"Think he saw?" said David.
" Considering he quoted to that effect, you may
take it that he did," said Frank.
"Oh, that was what it was about, was it? I
wish I could laugh like that."
"You will in time, if you go on trying," observed Frank.




FIRST YEAR


13


"Then you've recognised it. Ha! About dinner this evening. Now I come to think of it  "
"Don't come to think of it. I haven't," said
Frank.
"Well, then, you needn't. Because now I remember that Bags said he would give me a birthday party, if he didn't tell me to the contrary by
this morning. And it is this morning," said
David lucidly, "and he hasn't."
"Bags is becoming rather a blood," observed
Frank.
"Rather," said David, "and now he'll become
much bloodier. Lord, it was funny! Bags came
into my room this morning while I was still in
bed, and said quite suddenly, 'My uncle's dead.'
Well, if you're told anything, bang, like that, of
course you laugh. So I laughed. That made
Bags laugh, too, and there we were with awful
giggles because his uncle was dead!"
"What did he die of?" asked Frank.
"That's just what I asked, and that made it
worse still because he died of measles. Fancy
dying of measles when you're nearly seventy!
There was an obituary of him in the Times; but
the Times only said 'a short illness.' Naturally
it wouldn't say measles."
"But why does all this make Bags bloodier?"
asked Frank.
"Why, because his uncle was a lord, and hadn't
any kids-only measles. So now his father's a
lord, and Bags is an honourable. He looks just
the same, though. Honourable Crabtree: LordLord Lobsterbush and the Honourable Percival
Crabtree. His father's a clergyman, too. Does a
clergyman get hoofed out of the Church when he's
hoofed into the House of Lords? That stumped
Bags; he didn't know."




14 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"Bishops don't," said Frank.
"Oh, but they're different. If they weren't
Bishops they wouldn't be there at all. They get
in because of it. Bags's governor didn't get in
because he was a clergyman, but because his
brother measled."
They had passed down the side of the back
lawn at King's and gone into the buildings by the
river where David kept. Frank had not had the
smallest intention of coming so far, but it was
always so much easier to remain with David than
to go away. Indeed, it was a sheer waste of time
not to be with David when you could be, for the
old love, born in the days of school, had never
waned, and at nineteen (just) and twenty-two
they were still knitted into each other with that
taut bond of boyish affection which early manhood had done nothing to slacken. It had grown,
indeed, in closeness and comprehension, when,
last October, David came up to Cambridge where
Frank, having already completed his third year
and taken his degree, was staying up for another
year to go in for a second tripos in Archaeology
with the view eventually of getting a fellowship.
For this year, then, they would be together at
King's, and that was sufficient for the present....
A cold and discouraging lunch was laid out on
David's table. There was a "loaf of bread, a jug
of wine" (or more precisely a small opaque remnant of port in an otherwise empty decanter), a
piece of cheese, and some marmalade. The Thucydides was the "book of verses."
"Sit down and have some lunch, Maddox," said
David fatuously. "Don't spare the bread, especially the crumb, or we shall quarrel. You shall
have precisely half the port-it's only a week or




FIRST YEAR


15


two old, and was a fine vintage in its time. I will
eat marmalade on cheese."
"There's a pie of sorts in my room," said
Frank.
"Then don't sit down," squealed David. "Go
and get it."
"If you'd said that as we passed      my
room " —    began Frank.
"But how could I when I didn't know it was
there?"
"Toss up who goes," said Frank.
He lost and went, and as David rummaged in
his gyp-cupboard for cutlery and plates, he
planned a pleasant afternoon. When lunch was
over they would play a game of billiards, not go
out at all, have muffins for tea, and drop into the
ante-chapel to hear the anthem at evening service.
Then-     A voice like a foghorn sounded in the
court below, hooting at intervals.
"David... Mr. Blaize... Blazes... Dean
David" (the last was an allusion to David's
father).
David opened the window.
"What's the row?" he asked. "Come and have
-oh, no, don't; there's not enough. What is it,
Tommers?"
Tommers (alias Tomlin) seemed to like the
sound of his own voice, for he chanted "Mr.
Blaize" once more. Then he spoke in ordinary
conversational tones.
"I say, David, do come and play Rugger this
afternoon," he said. "It's only against Cat's and
I've been trying all morning to get  "
"No," said David, and shut the window.
Instantly the foghorn began again.
"Master David Blaize... Da-a-vid! Once
in royal David's...




16   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Oh, blast him!" said David, opening the window again.
"-Somebody to play three-quarters, and I
can't find anybody," said Tommers, going on precisely where he left off. "I say, do play. It's
absolutely impossible to get anybody else, or I
wouldn't have asked you. At least, I don't mean
it quite like that, yqu know. You see what I
mean.'
"But I hate Rugger," said David. "Have you
tried   "
"Yes," said Tomlin. "Ages ago."
David hesitated; he didn't really object to
Rugby football, if he wasn't in the serum.
"Well, if you promise you won't put me in the
serum under any circumstances," he began.
"Rather not."
"Or full-back," said David.
"I swear I won't. You are a ripper."
"I know that. Where and when?"
"Two fiff. Our ground. I'll call for you."
Frank came back with the pie of sorts and a
tankard of beer.
"My pleasure's completely spoiled," said
David. "I meant to play pills with you in a jolly
fuggy room. Now I've promised to play Rugger. "
"Filthy game," said Frank. "Hairy people
rub your face upwards. Couldn't they get anybody else?"
"Of course they could. Everyone was fearfully
keen to play.  But they wanted me.    Why
shouldn't they? Besides, I'm not playing in the
serum. No! Three-quarters. I'm a smartish
three-quarters with a rooted objection to being
collared. I played for the school once, and I
should have got a try if I hadn't been knocked
down and trodden on."






FIRST YEAR


17


David had not quite finished lunch when the foghorn began again, so Tommers came up and
waited for him, while he changed in front of the
fire.
"Who've they got?" asked David, taking his
trousers off. A pocket got upside down, and all
his money rolled about the floor.
"Nobody of any class, except Alston," said
Tommers. "Oh, do be quick; I'll pick them up
for you. "
"Alston?" shrieked David. "Lord, I wish I
was dead, but I soon shall be. I bet you he's
opposite me. There's another half-crown. I'll
give it you if I needn't play, Tommers."
"What's the matter with Alston?" asked
Frank.
"Oh, nothing. He offered to take the place of
a bull in a bull-fight once," said David, "but they
wouldn't have him because he was too savage.
That's all."
Frank strolled up to the field with them, David,
between the two, being led like a large yellowhaired lamb to the slaughter, and sure enough
Alston was opposite him in the three-quarter line.
This young gentleman was quite square, as broad
as he was long, and of the build of a luggageengine. If David's seventy-two slim inches could
have been cut in half, without inconvenience to
him, and the severed halves fastened together side
by side, he would have had much the same sort
of figure.
David did not possess the grim but cheerful
temperament of the football player, and he had
a strong objection to being collared somewhere
about the knees and thrown flat on his face, which
was exactly what Alston proceeded to do to him
three times in the first ten minutes. The fourth




18 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


time that this brutal rape appeared imminent,
David gave a loud hoot of despair, and hurling the
ball wildly away with no thought but to get rid of
it, found that he had made a marvellously neat
pass to his centre-three-quarters. From twenty
yards off the ball went into his hands like a bird
into its nest, and the luggage-engine thereupon
left David and steamed after the other, who with
great dexterity passed back again to David.
"Oh, blast," thought David, "I've got it again,
and here's this blighter coming for me."
He raced on, and thump, thump came the awful
Alston after him. David again passed to his
centre (this time it was on purpose), who dodged
the full-back, and got a try right between the
goal-posts.
Now just before, Tarler and Towling, two great
football bloods, captain and secretary of the University team, strolled on to the ground. There
was a fearful dearth of talent this year: Rugby
football was darkened by the most gloomy eclipse,
for the incoming tide of freshmen went and played
golf, that mild and elderly pursuit which from the
<football point of view was a decadent and effeminate sort of croquet. The three-quarter line, indeed, in the University team was at present a
mere derision, and Tarler and Towling, known as
the Tooties (two T's), who lived so entirely for
Rugby football that if there had not been any they
would have evaporated like morning dew, occupied their off-afternoons in looking on at College
matches in the hope, at present vain, of discovering some faint indication of talent. They were
large, strong, taciturn people, much like each
other, and their idea of Eternal Bliss was to be
tightly wedged together in a steaming serum shoving hard with their big legs.... At David's ex



FIRST YEAR


19


ploit they simultaneously took their pipes out of
their mouths. "Pretty neat piece of passing,"
said Tarler.
"Who's that lanky Kingsman on the right?"
said Towling.
"Never saw him before," said Tarler.
"There's Maddox," said Towling.
"Might ask him," said Tarler.
They strolled on to where Frank was standing.
"Hullo!" they said simultaneously.
"Hullo, Tooties," said Frank. "How's your
golf getting on?"
The Tooties gave a polite grin, but couldn't
make jokes about the beastly game.
"Who's that tall youth playing three-quarters
for you?" asked Tarler.
"On the right," added Towling.
"Blaize," said Frank. "Freshman."
"Thanks. So long," said the Tooties and moved
on again.
"Might watch a bit," said Tarler.
David, unconscious that the joint eyes of the
Tooties were firmly fixed on him, was rather
pleased with himself. There never had been a
more outrageous fluke than his first pass, for his
whole intention had been to rid himself of that
ball for the sake of which Alston had already
thrown him down on his face three times. The
result of those assaults was that he was already
completely covered with mud: his knees were
caked with it, so was his face, and on his arms
Alston had imprinted two impressions of his large
hands, like the crest of a baronet in black. But
nothing ever made David look dirty; he might be
wholly encased in mud, but the mud appeared to
have nothing to do with him. It just happened to
be there, but he remained clean and ruddy below.




20 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
It had begun to rain, and rain and perspiration,
which made other people look dirtier than ever,
only seemed to wash him. Anyhow, in spite of
Alston, this was much better than being in the
scrum over which a thick and sweaty'steam arose,
out of which every now and then Tommers's face
appeared, black and radiant. He had seen the
Tooties, and was playing up for all he was worth
in order to catch their distinguished eyes, and was
blissfully unconscious of the fact that they were
taking no notice whatever of him.
It was a cheerful sort of game. The gentlemen
of St. Catherine's College were getting a shade
savage and rough, which Tommers always enjoyed, since no one ever could hurt him, while the
King's three-quarter line, in which David had to
be included, because he couldn't get anybody else,
was doing itself proud. And here was half-time
already-though who'd have thought it?-and on
resuming it was clear that their opponents meant
to make the game more open, for they were not
scoring much in the serum. Things therefore became vastly more hectic for David, for the ball
kept coming out with odious frequency. It had
become thoroughly slippery now, and was as hard
to hold as an eel, while running was a skidding
progress on this greasy ground. Here it was coming out to him again, and he just touched it as it
bounced in front of him, and then somehow managed to gather it. He wriggled free of the embrace of one of their forwards only to hear the
thump-thump of Alston coming up on his left and
intercepting him. He was all alone, too, and there
was no chance of passing anywhere. Like an
orphan.
Now David could, on emergency, run like a hare.
He did so at cricket when despair winged his heels




FIRST YEAR


21


with the terror of being run out; but unless he
was thoroughly frightened, he was only a moderate sprinter. But now a spasm of this admirable panic seized him; there was this infernal
luggage-engine stamping and snorting and breathing hostile steam, and the only possible chance of
avoiding being run over and squashed and
squeezed and flattened was to flee like a bird. And
like a bird he fled, his yellow hair standing
straight up on his head, and his blue eyes wide in
an ecstasy of cowardice. Alston had only got to
steam along a radius, so to speak, while David
must traverse an arc of circumference, and close
by the touch-line was standing Frank with a friend
or two, who, knowing David's power of pace when
and when only he was thoroughly alarmed, broke
into loud laughter and encouraging cries,
"Spurt for your life, David," shouted Frank,
"or he'll get you. "
"Don't funk, whatever you do," screamed
Bags, who had come down when he heard David
was playing.
Then Tommers's foghorn boomed out from
where the broken-up serum were racing after him.
"Run like Blazes," he shouted. "He's catching you up."
David was beginning to laugh himself, but he
had enough speed to curve round Alston like a
yacht just clearing the mark. Alston's hot breath
was on his shoulder, and he felt himself grabbed
by his jersey, which tore from neck to waist with
a zipping noise, leaving his back quite bare, while
the flap of it waved like a victorious flag. The
spectators generally had caught on to the joke,
for there was David, the picture of headlong
terror and amusement, with his jersey slipping
off his arm as well, and the vindictive Alston ply



22 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


ing his short stout legs so swiftly that their motion could hardly be followed. The Tooties alone
remained perfectly grave, because under no circumstance could you laugh at Rugger, and Tarler
took his pipe from his mouth.
"That's a sprinter," he said.
Towling put his pipe back in his mouth.
"Just a bit," he observed.
David had left the luggage-engine definitely outpaced and distantly snorting, and now he was
aware of the full-back immediately in front of
him, dancing on his toes like a mongoose ready to
spring this way or that and collar him. He tried
to run round him to the right, but there wasn't
room between him and the touch-line, and slipping
on the greasy ground recovered himself by shooting out his left leg, and found himself clear of his
man, who had pounced towards the right, with the
goal open in front of him. The manoeuvre looked
like the most superb swerve, but was really nothing of the sort. Next moment he was safe behind
the goal-posts.
"Ripping good swerve," said Tarler solemnly.
"Try him in the picked game on Saturday. Forgotten his name."
"Blaize of King's," said Towling. "No-one
else worth spitting on. Let's toddle."
David was happily unconscious of the awful and
undeserved honour in store for him, and when the
game was over hurried back to enjoy the remainder of his carefully planned and Sybaritic evening. The first item must certainly be a bath so
hot that to move in it was torture, and only by
lying quite still could the heat be tolerated. Then
when it began to get a little cooler he turned on
the hot tap again and sat on the edge whistling
loudly, till the temperature had risen sufficiently




FIRST YEAR


23


to produce the requisite agony. Then when he
was bright red all over and sick with heat he let
the water drain away, and turned on the cold tap.
He dressed and went over to Frank's room to eat
muffins till it was time to go into the ante-chapel
and hear the anthem.
"A large tea," he said, "is the right thing to
give you an appetite for a large dinner. It prepares the inside for what's going to happen to it.
I say, that game was rather a lark. I've never
been so frightened. Blowed if I ever play Rugger
again; it takes years off one's life, or adds them
on."
"Don't be too sure," said Frank. "The Tooties
were there, and asked me your name. That was
when you threw the ball away, and Cartnell happened to be there."
"Just a fluke," said David.
"Rather. But it looked neat. Did you know
that you can always tell Rugger blues by their
faces? They look like leather, and their ears are
always close to their heads from being squashed
in the scrum. And their noses spread sideways
over their faces for the same reason."
David gave a loud sigh of content.
"Funny things!" he said. "And it's funny to
see you making tea and toasting muffins for me.
I used to have to do that for you when I was your
fag."
"You did. Good Lord, that's five years ago.
You haven't changed an atom, except that you're
about a foot taller."
David drew his hand over his chin.
"Rot! I shave now," he said.
" Only for swank."
"Not at all. If I didn't shave, I should have a
honey-coloured beard and a moustache. Let's




24   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
grow beards and whiskers and be known as the
Hairy Horrors. More lumps of sugar, please."
David slid from his chair and sat on the hearthrug.
"It's all very well not to think about it," he
said, "but we're growing up. I shall have to have
an aim in life soon, and I'm blowed if I know what
it's going to be. Bar fooling round with you and
playing games, I suppose I like fooling about with
words better than anything else. I make beautiful
sentences in my bath, and forget them afterwards.
And then I suppose I shall marry. Fancy having
a wife. Or kids. What a frightful responsibility.
I fell in love at school once, at least I thought I
did, and her name was Violet. And then I fell out
again, and haven't thought about a girl since.
Perhaps I shan't marry. Don't let's marry.
What are you laughing at?"
"You, of course. You get attacks now and then
of thinking what you're going to do when you
grow up, and it comes out like a sneeze and you
don't think about it again for months."
"But it's important," said David. "My fathr
talked to me about it the evening before I came
up. He's just like a boy still, you know, but he
told me that I wasn't a boy any longer."
Frank interrupted.
"Once upon a time," he said, "there was a little
boy just going to a private school. His father
told him that he wasn't a child any more, but was
entering on his boyhood which was the seed-time
of life. So he went to his private school. Three
years later he went to a public school, and his
father told him that he wasn't a little boy any
longer, and that these were the years in which
character was formed. All sorts of temptations
would now assail him, and life was beginning to






FIRST YEAR


25


open for him. When he went up to the University
his father told him that he was going out into the
world at last. All the years that had passed were
only a preparation for the life which, as before,
was just opening for him. When he left Cambridge, his father told him that he was in statu
pupillari no longer, and instead of being sheltered
and looked after as he had always been, he was
going to begin to fight life's battles. W7hen he was
engaged to be married his father told him that he
was now entering on manhood with all its sacred
responsibilities and duties. Life at last was opening in front of him. And when at the age of
eighty-seven he lay dying, the parson knelt by his
bedside and said, 'Dear friend, this world is only
the dream, the probation, the prelude. Now you
are called to enter into the true life, andthrough
the gate of death you will begin really to live.'
The man gave a hollow groan, and muttered,
'Good Lord, haven't I begun yet?' Then he died
in inconceivable agony, and went straight to hell."
David cackled with laughter.
"Poor old devil!" he said. "Couldn't get going. I suppose you made it up. But I see what
you mean: the best thing to do is just to go ahead
and not mind whether you've finished or haven't
yet begun. Sort of tract. Let's write some tracts,
Frank, 'Septic tales for serious people.' Hi! It's
half-past five: we shall miss the anthem if we
aren't quick."
They sat in the dimness of the ante-chapel,
David still occasionally bubbling with laughter at
the tragedy of the poor gentleman who was always
just going to begin. The screen with the organ
towering above it cut off the sight of the choir, but
beyond, the soft shining of the candles with which




26   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
it was lit mistily illuminated the tracery of the
windows now black against the night outside, and
glowed in the cells of the fan-vaulted roof. Like
some mist of sound, too, were the preluding bars
of the anthem, with one low pedal note held on the
open wood, scarcely audible, but drowsily pervasive, making the leaded glass to quiver. Then like
light piercing a depth of dusky water came the
first notes of the soprano solo.
David gave a little wriggle of delight.
"O-o-h! Cold water down my back," he whispered.
"Anything you like. Only shut up!" said
Frank.
They sat on when the singing was done, while
the remaining prayers were intoned, waiting for
the crimson curtains in the entrance of the choir
to be drawn; then a flood of mellow candlelight
poured out into the antechapel, and as the organ
muttered and modulated into the key its master
sought, the procession of singing boys and men
followed by a few fellows in surplices streamed
out in pairs. David, always vivid in perception
and emotional in mind, basked in the soft, solemn
splendour of it all, and yet even while he absorbed and loved it, he couldn't help thinking of
the silly line, "The animals came out two by two
-hurrah! hurrah!"... Then other animals
came out one by one, for a verger with a silver
poker preceded the Provost to the door. His bald
head shone faintly like a moon in the candlelight....Hurrah! hurrah! How ripping it all was,
and he wedged his shoulder against Frank's, for
he must be in touch with him when he enjoyed
himself particularly.
The organ had found its key. Dr. Mann paused




FIRST YEAR


27


a moment before he gave out the subject of a Bach
fugue. It was really a Fugue for the Well-tempered Clavier, but the wizard who presided over
those banks of stops and triple keyboard had designed the painting of it with all the orchestral
colour of the organ. It was well known to David,
for his sister in schoolroom days had been set to
learn it, and to enliven her task she and David had
created absurd words for it which fitted the
subject.
"Why, it's Margery's," he said, and made a
fluting noise that followed the rhythm of it.
"John Sebastian Back
Sat down on a tack,
Sat do-own on a tack and said 'Wow!'
"Now he's going to sit down again: he keeps
sitting down on a tack; there's a tack for him
everywhere. Isn't it ripping?"
The second voice announced this interesting
feat, and the two discussed it. Then a baritone
joined in and affirmed it, and the melodious riot
grew ever more rollicking. The treble kept on
insisting on it, though no one contradicted him,
and the bass gave out peals and roulades of laughter. Then a fluty alto, who had hitherto not had
any finger in the pie, bore witness to it, and the
bass, having laughed sufficiently, tried several
times to say the same thing but was always interrupted after announcing "John Sebastian Back"
by hoots from the treble. All the time the banks
of stops were being pulled out and the volume of
sound symmetrically swelling like a huge blown
soap-bubble. Then at last the bass called the
pedals to help, and boomed out what John Sebastian had done so thunderously that nobody else




28   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
had the slightest chance, and held on to the last
"Wow" in a stupendous roar. Upon which every
stop in the coupled keyboards combined against
it, the deafening yell of the tubas was unloosed,
and with one more repetition they all came to
agreement, and blared out the major chord of C.
"O Lord, what fun!" said David. "Worth
while sitting down on a tack, if it makes you sing
like that. I must learn music. I must be a composer. How do you set about a fugue?"
II
THERE was no time after chapel to settle down to
work, for David said that snippets of work were
no good. You had to sit down with a solid couple
of hours in front of you if you were to make any
sort of headway. There were, as a matter of fact,
just about a solid couple of hours in front of him
before he need dress for Bags's birthday party,
but after a stroll round the quadrangle and a little
discussion on this point the hours were solid no
longer, and it was wiser to play piquet. He and
Frank had a running score over their games, and
were supposed to play, like the heroes of Ouida,
for sovereign points. Up to date David had lost
on balance rather over five thousand pounds, but
to-night he got a few hundreds back, and felt quite
rich when he went to dress.
Bags had blossomed in the most exotic manner
since he came up to Cambridge, like a plant taken
out of a nipping garden-bed and put in a hothouse. He was one year senior to David, and
from having been nobody in particular at school,
because he was short-sighted and could not play
games with any success, he now found that there
were many other lines for development and expan



FIRST YEAR


29


sion besides the athletic. During the last long
vacation he had been abroad, learning French, and
now shamelessly interlarded his conversation with
expressions in that elegant language, even when
there was a perfectly appropriate English equivalent. He said "Tiens" and "Mon Dieu"; he
even talked with a slightly foreign accent till
David imitated him with such withering felicity
that it was really wiser to adopt the more familiar
pronunciation. He read quantities of the most
amazing books which threw a flood of lurid light
on the possibilities of life and sex, and made him
certain that the only shocking thing in the world
was to be shocked at anything in the world. You
had to taste existence in its most curious essences.
~.. One day David, waiting for him in his rather
exquisite rooms, picked up a small volume with a
great deal of margin and very little printed in
the middle of the page by a man called Baudelaire,
which even with his limited knowledge of French
he could perceive was something quite unusual,
and with a dictionary to help he proceeded to follow his meaning more closely. He was not in the
least shocked (thus avoiding the really shocking
thing in the world), but gave loud cackles of
laughter, and murmured "Hot stuff!"   But it
soon palled, and when Bags entered a few minutes
later David threw the book at him, and said, very
carefully and slowly, with a puckered brow:
"II aime le smut. Son vrai nom est Bawdy
Laire. Bawdy Laire, votre ami, salt une chose ou
deux. I say, Bags, what awful piffle!"
Bags tried to look slightly superior.
"Of course you've got to know French to appreciate him," he said. "His sense of beauty is
quite unrivalled. There's not an English poet to
touch him. "




30   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING.'S
"Je crois que non," said David, "not with a
pair of tongs. I say, Bawdy Laire, you know.
Jolly funny. I wonder if they'd take me on to the
staff of Punch. Cushy job; you make a joke or
two like that every week, and they pay you a
salary, and you get Punch free."
"Punch?" said Bags. (This was before David
cured him of talking French.) "Ah, oui! Ce
journal comique."
"Oui; mais non si comique que —""Pas si comique," said Bags.
"Non! Je prefere non. Non si comique que
Bawdy Laire. Ne me interruptez pas, and let's
talk English again!"
Then Bags, slightly cooling towards French as
a ladder to culture and a medium for English conversation, had taken to dress too beautifully for
words with a tie carrying out the scheme of his
socks and buttons, and David, coming into his
room one morning as he was dressing, insisted
that his drawers were the same colour as his hair
and his sock-suspenders. And Bags belonged to
a very select dining-club and talked Port, and
cultivated the Society of long-haired poets with
pale green ties, and that of horsy young gentlemen who went to Newmarket. He liked athletes,
too, though he couldn't play any games himself,
and never called them flannelled fools or muddied
oafs. He kept a horse with a mouth of cast-iron,
and a playful habit of bucking whenever it met
with the slightest opposition to its whims, and
then Bags's faultless riding-breeches would be
seen sitting in the air and subsequently on the
ground, and his riding-crop flew west and his cap
east. But at bottom his horse was perfectly goodnatured, when it was allowed to go where it liked
at the pace that suited it. So on the whole Bags




FIRST YEAR                31
quite enjoyed his riding, and subscribed to the
drag, and even on the days when he was not taking equestrian exercise he often strolled down to
the Pitt in his breeches and beautiful gaiters without the risk of being bucked off anything.
Bags, in fact, just now was being highly experimental, and having discovered that it takes all
sorts not only to make the world, but the University of Cambridge, was sampling everything
within sight with a zealous appetite. So you
never could tell whom you were going to meet at
Bags's parties, and David as he set out for his
dinner was equally prepared to hear recitations
from Swinburne's Poems and Ballads (or the
poems and ballads of the bard's disciples), or to
listen to the latest odds on horses he had never
heard of, or to drink port for a long time after
dinner and talk about vintages. But it was sure
to be fun, for David always enjoyed everything,
and besides Bags was one of the best fellows in
the world.
Bags had provided an elegant and sumptuous
repast, and had written the menu-cards out himself in French. But as his gyp had put them all
upside-down, nobody was any wiser than they
would otherwise have been. He himself wore a
purple padded smoking-coat with a sapphire solitaire in his shirt, and there was a poet there called
Stapleton whose hair was so long that it fell into
his eyes, and gave him the appearance of an
anaemic Aberdeen terrior. Then there was a
golfing-blue called Gowles, who hit the ball so
much further than anybody else that it was quite
impossible to believe in equality, and who, when
David entered, was embarked on his usual story
without an end about his game that afternoon.
Then there was one of Bags's sporting friends




32 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
called Vyse, who when he was spoken to said
"Quite," and when he wasn't, crooned on about
the respective chance of Armadillo and Belisarius
for the Grand National, and an elderly don of
Bacchic and genial disposition, who was much
younger and stouter than anybody else had ever
been. His name was Arthur Gray, and he was
known as A. G.
"Well, at the second hole," said Gowles, "I
made a decent sort of drive and my opponent was
sixty yards behind. May have been seventy. So
he took his brassy —  "
"Capital," said Bags. "Do you know Mr.
Blaize, of Kings's?"
"How-de-do? He took his brassy and moved
his ball while he was addressing it, but insisted
that it hadn't rolled over. 'Right you are,' said
I, and he just reached the green with his second,
which was really his third. So I took an iron and
laid mine dead."
A. G. tucked David's hand into the crook of his
own arm.
"Ha, ha, Blaizides and his birthday," he said.
"How awfully jolly to be just nineteen. You can
eat and drink whatever you like without thinking
that you're going to die to-morrow. Let us eat
and drink, for to-morrow we haven't the slightest
intention of dying. And at nineteen whatever you
do hasn't any consequence at all. Consequences!
Let's play Consequences till dinner's ready. That
daring game when Mr. Something or Other meets
Miss Other or Something in an organ-loft peeling
potatoes with-with a theodolite. The consequence was that they became as bald as me and
the world said 'That Kruschen feeling!' Now it's
Vyse's turn. What does Tommy Vyse say?"
" Quite, " said Vyse. " But my name's Robert."




FIRST YEAR


33


The amazing A. G. put his other arm round
Vyse's waist. The three looked rather like a
Laoco6n group without their snakes.
"Oh, well, somebody else is Tommy," he said.
"You're just a centaur, dear boy. You spend your
beautiful life in riding over gates and bullfinches,
instead of opening the one and putting the other
in a cage. The idea of mounting a horse at all
appals me, and the horse would hate it. I rode a
horse once if it wasn't a mare, and it gave me the
sense of 'fallings from me, vanishings,' as Wordsworth says on the less important subject of Immortality, while the horse, I feel sure; felt the
'mute misgivings of a creature.' "
"Then at the third hole," said the inexorable
Gowles, who had got Stapleton fixed in a corner,
"we both got pretty decent drives, mine with a
slight pull on it, which carried the little potbunker. He was on the far side of the green with
his third   "
Stapleton swept his hair out of his eyes.
"I don't understand a single word," he said in
a loud, lamentable voice. "I don't know what
you're talking about. If it's golf, it isn't any use
to me."
Gowles wheeled round to David.
"So I made a perfect chip-shot with my niblick," he said, and "lipped the hole."
Bags was a perfect host.
"That was splendid," he said. "Serve the
other Johnnie right for going so far with his
third. Jolly good match. I think dinner's ready."
The genial A. G. was always delighted to talk
about any subject. Golf would do as well as anything else.
"Tees and bunkers!" he exclaimed. "What a
perfect title for a novel that dealt with the start




34  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


of some fair and flourishing career which ended
in complete disaster! I used to play golf in a red
coat, and it would have been awfully jolly if I
could have hit the ball.  Psychologically, of
course, golf is all wrong from beginning to end.
Every hole, of which there are far too many-is
it eight in a round, or eighty?-every hole is a
process of diminuendo, whereas it ought to be a
crescendo. As it is you start with a great glorious drive, and after some brassy shots there is
an approach, not so strong and free as the drive,
and then there's a putt which isn't so long as the
approach, and then there are some more putts
each of which, if you're putting well, is shorter
than the last. Instead you ought to start with a
short putt, and then make a longer putt, and then
play some approaches, and finish up with a great
glorious drive on to the tee. How much more
exhilarating and expansive and exciting and excellent!"
Gowles knitted his brows over this revolutionary project.
"I don't quite see how you would manage it,"
he said.
"Ha, ha! nor do I, my dear Teddy," said A. G.,
who had suddenly remembered his Christian
name. "But I don't see how to manage golf as
it is. Golf and the Infallibility of the Pope are
affairs which transcend the powers of my mind.
You ought to call a Symposium of Golfers, and
drink quantities of golden wine-everything is
done by Symposiums now-and, and get it all
altered. Almost everything I know ought to be
altered: we're much too Conservative, and the
world will never get on till we've remodelled it
entirely. Yes, champagne please: perhaps champagne needn't be altered. We might leave cham



FIRST YEAR


35


pagne alone, which I haven't the slightest intention of doing."
He emptied his glass so quickly that there was
practically no pause between the last sentence and
the next.
"We should begin by turning every institution
upside-down," he said, "and get out of all our
hidebound notions. Greek, for instance, oughtn't
to be compulsory or even voluntary, but absolutely prohibited, and then you would get everyone to study it with the zest that always attaches
to the forbidden. That was the cause of man's
first disobedience, and it will certainly be the cause
of his last. We all want to be wicked, and so few
of us know how. That's why poor Bernard Shaw
is so popular, for he tells us that we are wicked,
and that mothers are nasty, foul-minded old
women, and sweet English girls are liars and
hypocrites. Anyhow, the present company are
the best and most delightful people ever brought
together under one roof. Awfully jolly."
Stapleton waved his fork in violent disagreement, and a small dollop of spinach fell on his
soft shirt.
"I entirely disagree," he said. "I'm not quite
sure what you mean, but I entirely disagree. I
think that's a bourgeois point of view."
"Quite," said Vyse. "I say, you've some
spinach on your shirt."
"Well, at the third hole," said Gowles-"or
did I tell you about the third hole?"
"Yes, dear boy, you holed out in-in dormy two
from a bunkered stymie," said A. G. "How rich
and delicious words are when you haven't the
slightest idea what they signify! That is the
whole secret of Stevenson's popularity. He leads
up to a matchless situation, and then being quite




36 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
unable to handle it, makes his characters talk
Scotch, and the reader interprets the unintelligible
dialogue which follows by the light of his own
emotion. Other authors, when they can't get on,
or are getting on too far, put rows of asterisks,
and we fill them up for ourselves. How beautiful
to publish a book of thousands of pages consisting
completely of asterisks! Most books are far too
long, for you have to wade through dreary events
and the ill-digested impressions of the author, but
the book of asterisks could never be long enough,
for the reader would put into each line of stars
some passionate and unprintable experience. Only
a title would be necessary, with perhaps a subtitle to explain what the asterisks were about.
'Toques and Trousers,' for instance. 'A Revelation in the Relations of the Sexes!' Who will
collaborate with me in a lurid volume of asterisks?"
Gowles had despaired of finding any listener, so
he went on quietly talking to himself about what
happened at the fourth hole, in order to get it
ready for the next occasion on which he would find
a sympathetic audience.
"Or 'Toques and Togas,'" continued A. G.
"The title of a book, so one of our leading contemporary novelists told me, is the only thing that
matters. Certainly his books do not. David
would look awfully jolly in a toga. Why doesn't
everybody were togas and cothurnuses or something of the sort? and I would give my lectures on
Theocrites on the banks of the Cam, and we would
all swim about when I got too dry. Nobody would
learn anything, but life would become quite preposterous and Athenian and exquisite. I wonder
who invented that dreadful maxim 'Live and
learn.' The whole point of life is to refuse to




FIRST YEAR


37


learn anything that can possibly be of use and
thus hamper your natural style. I did not know
that when I was young, and balefully amassed a
quantity of useful information which I thought
would help me in after-life. It has done nothing
of the kind; it has hampered me at every turn,
and in my most joyous and allegro hours I can
never quite get rid of the incubus of it. "
A. G. was now firmly anchored to the subject of
himself and went on with extraordinary gusto.
"I might otherwise have become the apostle of
the new civilisation," he said, "which I firmly believe is dawning at last, and in which everybody
will be young and useless and ignorant. As it is,
the drudging habits of my early years continue to
reassert themselves, and I go round and round
like a squirrel in a cage industriously grinding out
the meal of instructive information to bored and
bright-eyed undergraduates. Who, after all, was
the wisest man the world has ever seen? Socrates,
of course, who spent his entire life in convincing
the youth of Athens that neither he nor they knew
anything whatever. They sat under plane-trees,
and it was all awfully jolly. What a drab age is
ours! An age of blue-books and Pelmanism
which, I am told-and I'am afraid it is quite true
-enables you to remember anything you have
ever learned. Let us start an Anti-Pelman Society, which enables you to forget anything you
have ever learnt. It will purge our minds, as by
a great golden pill, xof all the stored-up wasteproducts of information, which if allowed to accumulate poison the system and make us stiff
with educational acids. Ha, ha!"
"Quite," said Vyse. "By the by, Bags, I got
a tip from the Charlton stables that the Queen of
Sheba's got a swelled fetlock, and probably won't




38 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


run on Tuesday. Hope you haven't backed her."
Stapleton, who had removed the spinach, was
feeling less contradictory, and was now listening
to A. G.'s sonorous periods with quivers of delight, like a terrier who smells something interesting and ratty. He drew in his breath with a hiss
and a shudder at the introduction of this barbarous and horsy topic, but A. G. patted Vyse's
shoulder appreciatively.
"How splendid and exotic and oriental," he
said. "That is the sort of information I delight
in, for though it conveys nothing whatever to my
reason, it evokes endless imaginative visions. I
seem to see the Queen of Sheba telling King Solomon that she proposes to run all day next Tuesday. Hardly had she spoken the vainglorious
words than she was seized with a dull ache in her
rosy and royal fetlock. The king's physicians,
hastily summoned, pronounced that the place was
distinctly swollen, and that any notion of running
on Tuesday was out of the question. That, no
doubt, was why there was no more spirit left in
her  — "
"Quite," said Vyse, "but the Queen of Sheba
I was telling Bags about is a mare."
No amount of literalness ever daunted A. G.
"The doctrine of the transmigration of souls,"
he said. "How fascinating, but how very improbable. I entirely believe in it for that reason.
An eminent transmigrationalist, the other day,
assured me that I had been one of the later Roman
Emperors, whose soul had been kept, so I understood him, in some sort of spiritual cold-storage
till I was ready for it. I wonder, if I behaved like
Heliogabalus, whether the University authorities
would admit the plea of identity as an adequate
excuse for imperial excesses."




FIRST YEAR                39
David's health was duly drunk at the close of
dinner; A. G. proposed it, and as David was
totally incapable of making a public oration of
any sort, since the moment he opened his mouth,
all ideas escaped from his mind like a flock of
startled birds, A. G. also replied for him. He
professed on David's behalf, a stern determination to keep himself pure from the malady of
learning anything, and assiduously to devote the
golden days of youth to unfitting himself for any
future career, keeping the prismatic colours of
his soul as bright as an awfully jolly rainbow.... Then he forgot that he was speaking for
David, and gave them some incredible reminiscences of the late Kaiser....
Bags was in his element to-night, entertaining
a party of this kind. He was, to begin with, richly
endowed with the ancient and honourable virtue
of hospitality, and liked nothing better than to see
people eat and drink at his expense. The more incongruous and dissimilar his guests were the more
he enjoyed it, and it really was a rich variety of
human nature that was now smoking his cigars.
There was Vyse, who thought about nothing but
horses, and Gowles, whose little life was bounded
by a bunker, and Stapleton, who didn't know a
horse from a golf-ball, and A. G., who was a reincarnation of Heliogabalus. Finally, there was
David, in whose honour the feast was set, and
David somehow was in acuter contrast with each
of them than any of them were with each other.
He could hugely shout with laughter at A. G.'s
amazing conversation or take the deepest interest
in the exposition Gowles was at this moment giving him with the aid of a poker and a match-box
as to how to explode a ball out of sand. (Just
"hen he hit the match-box so venomously that all




40 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


the matches exploded.) Or if Vyse recounted to
him the pedigree of the Queen of Sheba, or Stapleton recited to him some outrageous poem,
David would consider it to be wonderfully gifted
of them and attend with all his might. That was
so characteristic of him: he cared for what interested other people, just because it interested them,
and that was why everyone wanted to get hold
of him.
For the moment all Bags's guests were engaged
with each other-Vyse had gone to telephone to
somebody, Stapleton was gesticulating about the
colour-value of Paul Verlaine's lyrics to A. G.,
and there was Gowles gardening with a poker on
the hearthrug. Yes, that was the difference between David and them: they all had their own
stunts, while David hadn't any stunts at all, except the stunt of being an ardent well-wisher to
other people's stunts. And it wasn't as if he
was not keen enough on his own affairs: he
played games as if his eternal salvation depended
on them; but anything that concerned his friends
mattered so much more to him than what concerned himself. You really couldn't call him unselfish, because it interested him more, and though
he was as good as gold and as wholesome as bread,
there was no one less meek-fancy a meek David!
-or pi' or priggish. But you couldn't shock him.
Bags hadc tried once by giving him some lurid
hints about the Moulin Rouge and other gay resorts in Paris, and David had only yelled with
laughter and said, "O Lord, I wish I'd seen you
Don Juanning with two coc-what are they?cocoons! You must have looked funny."
"Cocottes," said Bags.
"No, I think cocoons. Tell me some more about
the cocoons," and he gave a large yawn.




FIRST YEAR


41


There wasn't really anything particular to tell,
and Bags felt that his hinted devilries had fallen
rather flat....
David understood all about niblick-shots by now,
and Bags thought it was time for drinks and diversions. There was a piano and some packs of
cards, and A. G. was soon overbidding his hand
at bridge and talking the whole time except when
he warbled the simple and moving air of Chopsticks, as performed by David and Bags on the
piano.
"Awfully jolly," he said. "Let me see, have I
revoked or have our adversaries? Oh, here the
card is. Wlhen I was in Venice last year we used
to play bridge in a gondola. Tum-te-te, tum-te-te,
tum-te-te. A little faster, my dear Bags. Somebody ought to set words to Chopsticks full of
subtle innuendos. Ha, ha! I trump that, so why
isn't it my trick? Oh, I see, dear old Teddy has
overtrumped it. There's many a slip betwixt
trump and trick. Has the ace of trumps been
played yet? Dear old partner, your hand seems
to be at sixes and sevens, and we're two down already on my sumptuous call. Well, I've got the
last heart; anyhow that will make. No, the ace of
trumps has not been played. Why didn't you
kick me very gently under the table? That makes
us a hundred and fifty down, but I had three
trumps, all of which were honours. How awfully
jolly it all is! Why doesn't our beloved David
have a birthday every day, and Bags ask us to
dinner every night? I once played bridge at Aixles-Bains with two Queens, which with the four in
the pack made six. They are both dead now. I
can't take any tricks, partner. Ought I to have
said four diamonds? I had five headed by the




42 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
nine. Five and sixpence, is it? I shall get a
barrel-organ and a monkey and sing in the streets
of Cambridge, or else cut down my subscriptions.
Perhaps that would give least pain to the greatest
number. '"
"Quite, " said Vyse.
A. G. was easily induced to sing a little, though
not in the streets of Cambridge and without a
barrel-organ, before going to bed. A copy of the
Immortal Hour was found, and he accompanied
himself in a fortuitous but optimistic manner.
But sitting at the piano with occupied hands he
could not produce the glamour and atmosphere of
Dalua in the pine-wood, and so he got Bags to
play for him, and standing on a footstool to add
majesty to his presence, he wrapped himself in
Vyse's black gown, and put out all the lights except the candles on the piano. It would have been
more impressive had not David, when Dalua
pointed at him and declaimed "Laugh not, ye
outcasts of the invisible world," been seized with
violent hysterical laughter which he was quite unable to check. However, he behaved like a man,
and smothered his face in a sofa-cushion, and the
concert proceeded. But he was still rather shaky,
and when, with a good deal of supplementary falsetto, A. G. went on with "How beautiful they are,
the lordly ones," his efforts at self-repression
completely gave way, and with the cushion still
over his mouth, he was softly led away on to the
landing outside.
After this musical conclusion the party dispersed. Vyse, who was in Trinity, suddenly remembered that he was gated at nine, and as it was
close on midnight, he would obviously have to run
very fast to get back there in time. A. G., whose
flippancy had quite evaporated in the deep im



FIRST YEAR                 43
pression his own singing had made on him,
waddled downstairs with David tucked close into
him, and explained how rare it was to find exquisite words set to exquisite music, in which
happy circumstances alone was the singer capable
of doing justice to either.
"Fiona Macleod!" he said. "I am convinced
that if that wonderful poetess and I had ever met,
I should have found that she was the one woman
in the world. Or was Fiona Macleod William
Sharp? How exceedingly disconcerting!"
The rain of the afternoon had ceased, the clouds
had blown away, and a large quantity of stars,
sadly dimmed by a powerful moon a few days
after the full, covered the sky. It flooded the
great court with light, brightly illuminating the
south side of the chapel, and A. G. as they emerged
turned his solemn imperial face skywards. He
began humming "How beautiful they are" again,
and David, unstrung by hysterical laughter, felt
his ribs beginning ominously to shake. The identity of the one woman in the world with William
Sharp had already unsettled him, and he knew
that any more music or high romance would be
devastating. But instead A. G. turned a magisterial and disapproving eye on the moon.
"Of all the countless mistakes made in the six
days of creation," he said, "that tawdry object
always seems to me the worst. Look at it, my
dear David, and tell me if you ever saw anything
so lop-sided and shabby. It shines with a light
that is not its own, like some inefficient plagiarist,
and as it waxes and wanes, it does not swell and
decrease symmetrically, but plasters fresh pieces
on to one side or takes parings off it. It surely
would have been possible to make a symmetrical
moon which would increase evenly all round up to
the full and then diminish evenly, if you wanted




44 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
an adjustable light, now bright and now dim. The
most ordinary lamp-maker will supply you with
a burner which turns up and down without going
out on one side and flaring on the other. Take it
away."
He walked on a few paces, and as David hadn't
taken it away, he went on with his criticisms.
"And the quality of the light, too!" he said.
"It is the ruination of all colour, and your delightful ruddy face appears at this moment to be
ashen in hue. And why could not that ill-drawn
ovoid be made to keep pace with the other stars?
It goes scurrying along without paying the faintest attention to the general tempo, much in the
same way as I play the piano. And why its light
is supposed to be suggestive and amorous and
romantic has always baffled me. Yet so it is: I
imagine the moon has been the cause of more imprudent marriages than any terrestrial stimulus.
Every marriage traced to the influence of the
moon ought to be dissolved at the pleasure of
either party. '
He was staring at it now with a fat and fixed
malignity.
"Shakespeare, of course, saw what a fraud the
moon was," he said, "and ridicules her with his
most pungent sarcasms in Midsummer Night's
Dream, where, as you probably don't remember,
he introduces the moon in the person of the seediest of Bottom's company, and Thisbe bitterly and
deservedly apostrophises her, 'And thou, 0 moon,
0 base and wicked moon,' or something of the
sort. Indeed it is a debased and wretched object;
it looks as if it was covered with spots and was
moulting. 'And thou, 0 moon, 0 measly moulting
moon!' Ha, ha! How wonderfully Shakespearean! Observe too the effect of that decrepit lumi



FIRST YEAR


45


nary on the complexion of the chapel; how it
turns limestone or granite or whatever it is made
of to the semblance of greenish and putrid cheese.
~.. Dear me, what a quantity of things I have
said about the moon, but I dislike it so intensely
that they come flooding to my lips. I shall not
sleep to-night, but lie awake hating the moon, like
the second Mrs. Tanqueray. Why do not all the
poets make a dead set against the moon, and abuse
her till she suffers a permanent eclipse? I will
write a Platonic dialogue about her in which
Socrates, who is me, forces Blaizides, who is you,
to admit that the moon is a mad, measly, mangy,
moulting, melancholy, misbegotten mummy. Dear
old boy, good night! How awfully jolly it has all
been. Come to breakfast to-morrow at half past
eight."
III
DAVID presented himself at the rooms of the moonhater within a few minutes of the appointed hour
next morning, but instead of finding his host and
breakfast, found only a table sparsely laid for one,
and a bed-maker with a duster tip-toeing about
her duties.
David explained that he had come to breakfast,
and in answer she pointed dramatically to a piece
of paper pinned up on the door of Mr. Gray's bedroom, on which was inscribed in large, legible letters, "Do not wake me till half past nine." This
seemed to indicate that his virulence about the
moon had caused him to forget about his invitation. But whether or not he had lain awake all
night hating it, he was certainly awake no longer,
for through his bedroom door came comfortable
noises which proved it. So underneath the order




46 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


not to call him till half past nine, David wrote, "I
didn't; and thank you so much for my nice breakfast.-D.B.," and went to the college kitchen to
see what of a suitable and substantial nature could
be provided without delay.
David was quite pleased to have got up so early,
though the immediate cause for his having done
so had proved futile. But otherwise he would
certainly have turned over with a groan when his
gyp called him, have gone to sleep for another
hour or two, and have scrambled through a hasty
breakfast in order to be in time for Mr. Crowfoot's lecture on Cicero's letters. As it was, the
act of rising had been attended by no pang, since
it was to be succeeded by breakfast with A. G.,
and he had now a couple of hours clear before he
need be moving. It would be an ample sacrifice
on the classical altar if at ten o'clock he began
devoting himself to the study of such letters of
Cicero as Mr. Crowfoot would be expounding at
his lecture, and two consecutive hours occupied
with that diffuse and pompous correspondent
would be as much as anyone could hope to survive.
Cicero wrote the worst possible sort of letters:
there was no lightness about them; they were interminable discussions on heavy topics, politics
and Roman history, and he ought to have foreseen
what a nuisance they would be if anybody kept
them. He ought to have said, "Destroy them at
my death."... As it was, they formed, in Mr.
Crowfoot's hands, a vehicle for the consumption
of Roman history. However, as you could seldom
hear anything Mr. Crowfoot said, for his words
ran into each other in a swift, strange gabble,
broken every now and then by shrill clearings of
his throat, there was not really much consumption
of anything. His speech, in fact, was to the ear




FIRST YEAR                 47
what writing becomes to the eye, when after having written something with a broad-pointed pen
and plenty of ink, you fold it down the middle and
press the two sides together. Written words lurk
somewhere in the spine of the strange insect which
is then disclosed, just as words, no doubt, lurked
in the core of the confused noise which Mr. Crowfoot made, without pause, for the space of one
hour twice a week. The erudite could identify
fragments of what he said; David himself was
getting rather good at it, and his conjecture that
what sounded like "fish-sauce" (an expression
which had occurred several times in Mr. Crowfoot's last lecture) signified "official sources" was
certainly correct.
But there was an hour yet before he need turn
his mind to the infamous letter-writer, and David
settled himself comfortably in a large arm-chair
in front of the fire, with a foot on each side of the
fireplace, and proceeded to perform the first indispensable duty of the day, which was smoking
his meerschaum pipe. A cigarette, of course,
would have tasted much nicer, but if you had a
meerschaum pipe there were duties as well as
glory attached to the ownership of it, and it had
to be coloured. Its virginity was still almost distressingly white, but up the neck of it, as far as
the amber mouthpiece, and up the bowl of it as far
as the plug which occupied the bottom of it,
David's optimistic eye detected a faint yellowish
tinge, like threatenings of jaundice, which he
hoped were the first manifestations of its colouring. By and by, if he persevered, that tinge
would deepen into a rich chestnut hue, and would
eventually become a bright and lustrous black.
What would happen after that was uncertain:
some said that the stain would spread to the top




48  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


of the bowl, others that above the plug it would
always remain white; but all were agreed that
every now and then, when the pipe got warm, the
stem of a wax match should be carefully and lovingly rubbed on it. The odour of the liquefied
wax mingling with that of burning tobacco was
wonderfully nauseating; but the match could be
applied when the pipe was finished, and so he was
not obliged to go on smoking in the aroma of that
oily stench. Luckily a meerschaum must only be
enjoyed two or three times a day, and must be
allowed always to cool before it was smoked
again. David was glad of that.
He applied himself to the ritual, which was girt
with ceremonial observances. You must never,
when it began to get warm, touch the bowl or the
stem of it with the finger, because fingers left an
impression on that sensitive skin; you must never
smoke fast and get it over, because that fevered
the delicate creature; but you must never smoke
so slowly that it went out, because then it had to
be relit, which was bad for it, and tasted disgusting, which was bad for you. Luckily it did not
need to be waxed this morning, for it had been
waxed yesterday; but, unluckily, it had been
waxed yesterday, and as it warmed up the smell
of the remelted grease began to diffuse itself.
Often and often David wished that Bags had never
given it him, but Bags had discovered that about
forty years ago it was rather chic to have a wellcoloured meerschaum, and had bought two of
these woeful badges of an antique mode, and had
given David one. Once started on their career,
the two pipes had become r;val beauties, and had
been, for some inconjecturable reason, christened Angelica Crabtree and Perpetua Blaize.
Angelica, so David had jealously observed last




FIRST YEAR


49


night, was quite unmistakably browner than Perpetua, but she had distinct signs of a nasty sort
of pale rash coming out on her bottom, which was
a consolation.
Perpetua was sweating heavily this morning
from her waxing yesterday, and had a creaking
sort of cough when she was sucked. It must have
been some diphtheritic trouble, for a blob of bitter
membrane got loose in her throat and flew up the
stem into his mouth. David got rid of that by the
obvious expedient of spitting between his legs into
the fire, and this emission seemed to have relieved
Perpetua, for she coughed no longer and only
sweated. He blew down her to assure himself that
her air-passages were now clear, and the burning
tobacco flew out like a cork from a soda-water
bottle and lodged in the hearth-rug. David shovelled it back and burned the top of his finger, and
the singed fabric of the rug made a new sort of
smell. Then Perpetua began to burn lop-sidedly:
one side of her glowed with incandescent fervour
and was probably very heating for her, while the
other wouldn't burn at all, and probably gave her
a chill on her liver. David muttered "Blast the
silly wench!" and stirred things up with a wooden
match. In his vexation with the silly wench, he
used the inflammable end of it by mistake, and the
head of it went off in the middle of Perpetua's
stomach and scattered her burning bowels on the
hearth-rug for the second time.
A loud tattoo sounded on his door and Tommers
entered. When Tommers tapped it did not imply
that he was asking if he might come in, but that
he was doing so. Ee wrinkled up his freckled
nose.
"Lord, what a stink!" he said. "What's wrong
with Perpetua!"




50 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"She's got the Athenian plague, if I remember
the symptoms rightly," said David.
"Well, the sooner it's fatal the better, I should
say," said Tommers. "You don't get well when
you're as bad as that."
"Oh, it's the hearth-rug partly," said David,
stamping on glowing fragments of Perpetua's inside. "Wow! There's a piece on my trousers."
David slipped from his chair as a fragment of
burning tobacco produced a sharp, stinging pain
in his knee-cap, and extinguished it.
"Fire on one knee," he said fatuously, "and I
believe I've got water on the other which I put
into Alston's face yesterday. And as they were
both covered with earth, there are the three elements for you."
"Element's embrocation," said Tommers, after
a little thought.
"Jolly smart, Tommers," said David.
"I thought you'd like it."
"Awfully jolly," said David in A. G.'s voice.
"He was priceless last night. He sang most of
the Immortal Hour, and I got the most hopeless
giggles. When he wasn't singing he didn't stop
talking. "
"What about?" asked Tommers.
"How should I know? That's the charm of
A. G.'s conversation; by the time you think he's
talking about one thing, you find he's talking about
something perfectly different. He was saying
something about books entirely consisting of asterisks, and I'd hardly got on to that when it was
Toques and Togas, and Stimies and the Queen of
Sheba and Socrates and the transmigration of
souls. Coming back across the court he certainly
stuck to one subject, and violently abused the
moon, which didn't pay the slightest attention.




FIRST YEAR                 51
But Angelica's got a rash-I guess she'll soon be
in a greater mess than Perpetua."
"Oh, do stop jawing about your putrid pipe,"
said Tommers.
"Putrid she is, but I haven't said anything
about her yet. And then A. G. asked me to breakfast, but he was snoring, and as he hadn't asked
me to snore with him I came away. That's why
I'm up. And there's a hole burned through my
beautiful old trousers, and if you look closely you
can see me coming through."
"Indecent exposure," said Tommers.
"Yes. I shall have it patched, and claim the
price of a pair of new ones from the Fire Insurance. 1"
"Do. As a genuine antique. I believe they
were found in Tutankhamen's tomb."
"They were. While they're being patched I
shall wear a toga. A. G. said I should look awfully jolly in a toga. And then there's the hearthrug. All seems to lead us back to the subject of
Perpetua. I must fill her again, I suppose. Lord,
how the poor maiden sweats!"
Tommers had dived underneath one of David's
legs, and now filled up the triangle they made with
the fireplace.
"I wish you'd chuck her into the fire," he said.
"Can't see it," said David. "Oh, is it behind
you?... Do shunt, Tommers. It's beastly cold."
"I know; that's why I'm standing close to the
fire," he observed.
David suddenly leaned forward and dexterously
pulled Tommers's trousers, which were now
toasted, close against the back of his thighs. He
gave one loud squeal, and burst out of David's
encircling legs.




52 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Thought that would do it," said David. "Now,
don't rag. My health is precarious this morning.
Besides, in two minutes I want to begin to work,
and ragging always takes more than that."
Tommers sat down on the sofa. It had only
three llgs, but he made a temporary fourth with
a Greek Lexicon and Dr. Smith's larger Latin
Dictionary.
"Right. I didn't come to rag. I came for a
little quiet conversation. I awfully want you to
do something."
David cocked his head on one side like a canary,
and a gleam of suspicion came into his eyes.
"If it's anything to do with Rugger, I won't,"
he said.
"Well, it has partly."
"Then I won't have anything to do with that
part. I hate Rugger; it's a mucky game. I only
played at school because I had to. What's the
other part?"
"Oh, it's the other part that's about Rugger,"
said Tommers. "I wish you'd play regularly.
We're quite a decent College team, but we're
stodgy somehow. We're all industrious, but there
ain't any snap. Now, you funk, of course; I never
saw a large tall thing funk so frightfully — "
"Oh, go on, don't mind me," said David.
"I don't-you funk, I was saying, but you do
surprising things. You can go like hell, too, when
there's something savage after you. You won the
match for us yesterday, however much you hated
it. Do play regularly for the team."
"No," said David.
"It's rather rotten of you, then. It's a jolly
good game; you'd get to love it. Besides, esprit
de corps —"




FIRST YEAR                 53
"Esprit de skittles," said David. "I play
games because I like them, not because of any
espreeze. Besides, I'm no earthly good. But
cricket now-if nobody else in the world played
cricket, I should go on playing it all by myself."
"Jolly clever of you," said Tommers.
"I know. But I should. I should bowl a very
slow ball, and then run like the wind to the other
wicket an hit it. Then I should drop my bat and
go and field it — "
"How about runs?" asked Tommers, momentarily distracted from his real topic.
"Oh, that! I-I should get someone to run
for me. You may always have someone to run
for you if both captains consent. I should be
both, you see.... Or I could spoon up an easy
chance, and just as I thought I was going to catch
myself, I could call no-ball.... Oh, why do I
talk such utter piffle? It was your fault, Tommers, for asking me to play Rugger in the College
team. Firstly I don't want to, and secondly I'm
an absolute stumour at it  "
"But you can run," said Tommers. "We want
somebody who can do more than trot."
"Only when I'm frightened," said the wily
David. "You said so yourself; and if I played
a lot, I should probably cease to be frightened.
No; you get some bright industrious lad who likes
being clasped round the knees and thrown flat on
his face and kicked in the eye. For them as likes
that sort of thing, Rugger's a ripping game-none
better."
The College porter came in with a couple of
letters for David, and a card. He took this first
and read it, and an expression of blank perplexity
came over his face. It was printed, with the date
and his name written in, and ran:




54 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


C.U.R.F.C.
DEAR SIR,
Will you play for Stripes in the picked game
on Saturday next at 2.30 on the Corpus Ground?
E. TOWLING (Hon. Sec.)
Then the obvious explanation struck him.
"Bally ass," he said to Tommers. "But not a
bad try-on. Where did you get the card from?"
"What are you babbling about?" asked Tommers.
David held the card lightly between thumb and
finger and flicked it at him. It was a perfect shot,
hitting Tommers precisely on the nose and falling
on to his knee.
"That's what I'm babbling about," he said.
"Childish jape."
David began to laugh.
"It took me in just for a second," he admitted.
Tommers looked at the card.
"But I swear I've had nothing to do with it,"
he said. "It's all genuine. Why, of course, the
Tooties were looking on yesterday when you made
your great funk. I hoped they were looking at
me, and played up like billy-oh. And they'd got
their limpid eyes on you all the time."
"But it must be a joke," said David. "If it's
not you who's done it, it's some other blighter. I
shan't take any notice: I simply shan't go; and I
bet you a bob the Stripes aren't a man short."
"Done," said Tommers. "0 Lord, how funny!
You were actually saying that you weren't good
enough to play for the College when the notice to
play in the picked game arrived."'
David heard Frank's whistle from the court
below and went to the window. When he was ex



FIRST YEAR


55


cited he stammered a bit. "Yes, c-come up," he
shouted.
Frank came in. David had refilled Perpetua
and was smoking her violently in his agitation.
"Frank, d-did you do it?" he said. "I believe
you did. Show it him, Tommers."
Frank read the card and burst out laughing.
"Of course I didn't," he said. "And as I told
you, the Tooties asked me who that lanky devil
on the right was. That's what comes of funking,
David. If you hadn't got terrified you wouldn't
have run so fast or chucked the ball away, and the
Tooties would have let you alone."
Now, though David professed to dislike Rugby
football, he could not help being pleased at this
invitation to play in a picked game. He was quite
convinced he was a wretched performer, but he
loved having impressed the Tooties, even though
terror had been the first cause of this distinction.
"I suppose it is genuine, then," he said. " Lor!
Picked game! More than ever happened to you,
Tommers!"
"In an access of fright the brilliant young
freshman three-quarters then ran round —" began Frank.
"Oh, shut it," said David. "I say, I shall go
into training till Saturday. I shan't smoke Perpetua. Give me a cigarette, somebody. What
did you come about, Frank?"
"Nothing particular. Chiefly because I didn't
want to begin working. The claim of friendship
took precedence of intellectual interests."
"Speech," said David.
"I was going to ask you about yours last
night."
"Oh, A. G. made it for me. And he forgot
towards the end and produced reminiscences




56 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


about the Kaiser. A. G. had been told that he
had been a Roman Emperor in a previous incarnation. I think he told himself. When anyone
says 'I'm told,' it means he's invented it."
"Cynical dog is David," said Tommers.
"Huhl!  That's taut-tautology.  Comes in
grammar.'
"And what's tautology?"
"When you say the same thing twice over.
Cynical means doggy."
"So's your room," said Tommers.
"Lord! What brilliance! I say, nobody need
go away unless they want to, but I'm going to
work. Where's Cicero's letters? Where's my
Latin dictionary? Where the hell's my Latin
dictionary? It was on the table just now."
Tommers sidled in a casual manner to the corner of the sofa, so that he concealed the biblical
leg he had made for it.
"Dematerialization of a dictionary," he said.
"That's the sort of thing that the spirits of the
departed occupy themselves with in the next
world, in order to demonstrate their existence."
David caught sight of the corner of it.
"And then materialize it again to show there's
no malice," he said. "Oh, get up, Tommers. I'm
going to work, I tell you. I don't often get up
early, and the golden morning —"
Frank moved towards the door.
"Come on, Tommers," he said. "He likes
Cicero much better than us. You're playing tennis with me at two, David."
"Oh, ripping. I'd quite forgotten. I'll call for
you. "
The two chattered downstairs.
"Funny about the picked game," said Frank.
"David half thinks there must be some mistake




FIRST YEAR


57


even now. But he looked pretty useful in that
match yesterday."
"Of course he was. He got one of our two
tries himself, and made the opening for the other.
But he never thinks he's any good at anything.
Rotten modesty."
"Yes. Rather jolly though."
Tommers laughed.
"And, by Jove, can't he sprint when he's got
the wind up," he said. "I hope somebody will
frighten him thoroughly on Saturday."
IV
MR. CROWFOOT, under whom David was to sit and
possibly learn that morning, was a bustling,
chirpy little body, who always dressed in a tailcoat, a bowler-hat, and buttoned boots which
turned up at the toes. He had a round face, the
lower portion of which was covered with a round
beard, and he wore round spectacles of peculiar
construction. They had extra lenses like blinkers
hinged to their outer margins, and these could be
turned back over the others, so as to give an
additional magnifying power. He whisked these
backwards and forwards as he lectured, using one
pair for the larger type of his text, and adding
the second for the smaller type of his notes, and
poured forth a swift gabble of confused exposition, as if he was just going to catch a train and
had only a minute or two to spare.
He had never been seen otherwise than in a
hurry, which caused him constantly to drop whatever he was carrying. To-day as he scurried up
the lecture-room a cataract of books and papers
spurted from below his arm, and as he gathered
them up and put them back they kept pushing each




58 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


other out and falling down again. A pencil
popped out of his waistcoat pocket as he bent
down, like a torpedo from its tube, and his watch
fell out and dangled by its chain in the air. He
continued to clear his throat and smile and murmur, "Dear me! how awkward I am! Very tiresome! Thank you, Blaize," as David helped him
to recover and retain these treasures.
Mr. Crowfoot was full of what he called
"dodges," like the White Knight in Alice in
Wonderland. On the writing-table in his rooms
where he corrected Latin proses, and made memoranda and never could find what he had put there,
was a row of ink-bottles which you could upset
without anything coming out, containing polychromatic fluids, purple ink, green ink, red ink,
everything but black ink, and it was popularly
supposed that he was thinking out a dodge of
using black paper (which would probably be
cheaper than white, owing to its not being
bleached) and writing upon it with white ink
(which would probably be cheaper than black,
because it hadn't got any colouring matter).
These inks he used week by week in rotation for
his correspondence and the correction of proses,
red ink one week and purple the next, so that
merely by looking at the colour you could ascertain the date of the piece in question. There was
a pen by each ink-pot, dedicated to its use alone;
but being always in a hurry, he usually dipped
the red-ink pen into the green-ink bottle and the
purple-ink pen into the red-ink bottle, thus produring curious colours of mixed date, and all the
nibs had to be cleaned. He had a drawer full of
small hanks of string which he unraveled from
parcels received and used again. They were seldom, of course, precisely the length required (that




FIRST YEAR                 59
would have been too much to expect), so he
knotted a couple of them together, or three if
necessary, and there you were! But he ceased
to be quite so much there when the knots came
undone, for the contents of the parcel fell out, and
he had to begin again. In another drawer were
sheets of brown paper, which had already been
through the post but could be turned inside-out
and used again. If too small, two pieces could
be gummed together; if too large, one piece could
be torn in half. More ingenious yet was his
cuckoo-clock, which was adjusted to strike the
hour two minutes before the right time.
"Because," so he gleefully explained, "if you
want to do something at eleven o'clock-or say
ten-it's too late to get ready for it when the
clock strikes and it's time to begin. But if your
clock strikes two minutes before the hour, there
you are all cool and comfortable." In practice,
Mr. Crowfoot generally began to do something
else when this dodgy clock struck, because there
were two minutes to spare yet, which it was a pity
to waste. After that he forgot the time altogether
until the cuckoo performed again, and he found
that he ought to have begun the first thing fiftyeight minutes ago.
Below his table was a fur foot-warmer (why
not fill it with ice in the summer?) in which he
inserted his feet while he worked. But the buttons or the turned-up toes of his boots often got
caught in the torn lining of it, so that when he
tried to stand up he sat down again, or lurched
forward among the ink-bottles. In extricating
himself a button or two sometimes came off the
boots, which he put in his waistcoat pocket and
forgot about; so that when, in a great hurry, he
took out his pencil-sharpener, which was like a




60 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


small candle-extinguisher and cut your finger instead of the pencil unless you knew the dodge of
it (and sometimes even then), the buttons came
out too, and rolled about the carpet like the bright
black eyes of birds. He picked them up and put
them on the chimney-piece, and naturally forgot
to sharpen the pencil with which he was just
going to make a most important memorandum
concerning a motion of his at the next Council
meeting. He had always half a dozen motions
down on the most various subjects, such as the
cutting of the lawn, the cleaning of the lightningconductors on the chapel, the quality of the beer
supplied by the buttery, or a scheme for feeding
the fish in the Cam and fattening them for the
use of Fellows. Sometimes his own arguments
converted him to the opposite way of thinking,
and he voted against the motion which he had
himself proposed. Especially was this the case
when A. G. agreed with his original motion, for
he would do anything rather than be agreed with
by A. G.... Whenever he was in the company of
his fellow-dons he was rich in incoherent arguments about some abuse that needed rectification,
and got up round-robins, and had hares to start
and bones to pick, and schemes to moot, none of
which ever came to anything.
Mr. Crowfoot was of a highly social disposition,
and his favourite hospitality was the glee-singing
parties which he gave in his rooms after hall
every week. They took place on Wednesday in
the summer and Thursday in the winter, and he
had some reason, which no one could ever remember (so abstruse was it), why Wednesday was
more suitable to the long days and Thursday to
the short ones. He had collected an enormous
quantity of old English glees and madrigals, and




FIRST YEAR


61


his guests, who were entirely undergraduates
(except when A. G. came in unasked), sat round
his dining-room table, and with him as conductor
and chief vocalist produced very pleasant and
extraordinary noises for an hour or two with intervals for unusual refreshments.  To-night,
Frank, David, and Bags all went together as soon
as Hall was over, and found themselves the
earliest to arrive. This was Bags's first appearance.
Mr. Crowfoot was employed in transporting
stacks of glee-books from the bookcase by the
piano to the table. They reached from the stretch
of his arms to his chin, and he welcomed them over
the top.
"Very glad to see you all, Maddox, and Blaize,
and Crabtree, isn't it? Help yourselves, won't
you? There's some Tintara-wine on the table,
and let me see, what have I done with the buns?oh, yes, in the fender to keep warm-and a small
Borneo cigar, won't you, and some chocolates? I
don't think you've been to my glee-parties before
have you, Crabtree? What do you sing?"
"I think a sort of bass," said Bags coyly.
Mr. Crowfoot was handing buttered buns and
pouring out Tintara, which was mulled and steaming from having been put close to the fire, and
distributing glee-books and pressing small cigars
on everybody, and talking all the time with the
greatest animation and incoherence.
"We'll soon find out; and then there's Maddox
and Blaize, and I think Tomlin's coming, and me,
and two choral scholars, that makes six, or is it
eight?-another glass of Tintara, Maddox-and
some more are sure to drop in. And a bun,
Blaize? Quite alliterative, isn't it? Alliteration
is the key to poetry: if I say 'pretty tunes,' it's




62 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


prose, but if I say 'melodious music,' it's poetry.
Let me see: have we enough chairs? Ah, here are
Tomlin and Kenneth, and I forget your name for
a moment-oh yes, Horncastle. That's a quorum,
isn't it? Will you help yourselves to cigars and
buns and everything, and we might begin."
They began with the famous catch "Mr.
Speaker, though 'tis late," with a fine lead for
the first voice, which Mr. Crowfoot performed
solo, in a high quavering tenor, beating time with
a paper-knife. As directed by the composer of
this remarkable piece, he gradually quickened the
time from andante to prestissimo, and the paperknife flew out of his hand and, narrowly missing
David's head, crashed among the buttered buns
in the fender. But he made no pause, and merely
snatched up the cake-knife which flashed like
Excalibur in his nimble hand. His voice rang out
shrill above all the others as he feverishly declaimed "Order! order! Hear him! Hear!"; a
wisp of his hair fell over his eyes, his face grew
red and shining with exertion and pleasure, and
it was only when he was breathless and exhausted
that he brought the cake-knife down among the
ink-bottles, which signified that the catch was
finished.
David's methods in the matter of part-singing
were sound, though slightly elementary. The object in view was to sing firmly and unwaveringly
the notes that were set down for him, and he
found that if he put his fingers in his ears, so as
not to be distracted by the voices of others, he
could keep to his notes pretty well; but if he heard
the air, he could not help joining in it. So he
sat during the next part-song frowning with concentration on his page, all other noises completely
banished from his sealed ears, making a loud




FIRST YEAR


63


bumble-bee noise and occasionally only looking
up at the movements of the paper-knife which had
been recovered from the fender and cleansed
from the fragments of buttered buns. When they
had got well embarked on the glee, Frank said in
a voice audible to all but him,
"I say, let's stop singing, but keep our mouths
going, and then David will have a solo."
This was done; David looked up occasionally
and saw the paper-knife going, and the mouths of
his fellow-melodists opening and shutting. So he
went on completely by himself in his booming
voice:
"I loved thee beautiful and kind,
And plighted an eternal vow."
His own voice, ringing through his head behind
his stopped ears, sounded wonderfully sonorous
and true and he was feeling immensely pleased
with himself. As the paper-knife was plied more
encouragingly he bellowed with the greater
vigour, and at last after singing a page or two he
thought he had got so firm a hold of his part that
he might venture to uncork his ears. This he did,
and was amazed to find dead silence all round him.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Ripping good solo: encore," said Frank.
Roars of laughter.
"How long have I been going on?" he asked.
"Since the third bar."
David howled.
"You utter brute! Sorry, Mr. Crowfoot. 0
Lord, I wish I'd heard it; it must have been
funny! Jolly good singing faces you all made."
"You ought to be in the choir, David," said
Tommers.




64 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Ought I?   You ought to be in — -    He
couldn't think of a sufficiently degraded place for
Tommers to be in....
David got his own back pretty soon, for being
asked to strike the chord of F on the piano, he
gave them a chord two tones higher. Consequently when the top voices were called upon to
sing A, they had to make a shrill approximation
to C sharp, and that was a very interesting noise.
This could not possibly be kept up, and they got
flatter and flatter, sinking like a barometer before
a storm, and carrying everyone with them till
they ended in precisely the key they should have
begun in. David verified the amazing fact that
they had not sunk a quarter of a tone....
About this time A. G. waddled uninvited into
the room and wedged himself in between David
and Frank.
"David and Jonathan, ha, ha!" he said, "and
here's Saul among the prophets. Awfully sorry,
dear old boy, about breakfast. Why didn't you
pull me out of bed? Come to breakfast to-morrow, or lunch, or anything you like: come to everything! What are you singing? Ah, good evening,
Crowfoot. Let's sing the Immortal Hour, as we
did last night. Let's sing "
Mr. Crowfoot rapped the table with his paperknife. Gray constantly came in like this and
interrupted the singing with his interminable
harangues. But Crowfoot was host and conductor
and leading tenor, and he did not mean to have
his glee-club turned into a pulpit for his colleague.
"We're going to sing 'Three blind mice,' " he
observed tartly. "Now then! One- two-"
" 'Three blind mice,'" said A. G. "A curious
and incredible collection of myopic rodents, ha,
ha! If it had been one blind mouse, or even, in




FIRST YEAR


65


exceptional circumstances, two blind mice for
whose melancholy fate you demand our melodious
threnody, I might have been willing to believe
you, but when it comes to -- "
"Three blind mice," chanted Crowfoot loudly,
opening his mouth very wide and flourishing the
paper-knife.
A. G. took up the glee-book which David and
Frank had been sharing, and held it at a convenient distance from his own face. He was almost
as fond of singing as of talking and began at once
in his woolly voice on the wrong beat and the
wrong note.  Instantly Crowfoot banged his
paper-knife on the table and stopped the singers.
"Gray, will you either sing second or first or
third," he said, "and not in between? And the
note is La! Now let us start again."
Mr. Crowfoot continued to beat time pointedly
at his colleague, who took not the slightest notice
but sang "Three blind mice" or "See how they
run" or "Awfully jolly, David" whenever and
however these sentiments occurred to him. Then
he got tired of this slow repetition, and started
singing "They all ran after the farmer's wife,"
again and again, rolling about in his seat, cannoning against Frank and then rebounding against
David. Long after Crowfoot had brought down
the paper-knife among the ink-bottles he continued a sort of chanted rhapsody, "They all ran
after the carving-knife, and she cut off their tails,
did the farmer's wife. And the three blind mice
had no tails for their life. So see how they run,
with the farmer's wife and the three blind mice."
Mr. Crowfoot interrupted this rollicking impromptu by clearing his throat and uttering withering speech.
"We've finished eleven bars ago, Gray," he




66 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
said. "And now we'll have the next catch but
three --
"Blind mice," said A. G.
Crowfoot turned over the leaves of his book in
a great hurry.
"Not at all," he said, and instantly began to
sing, " 'London's burning, London's burning.' "
"Fire, fire!" cried A. G.
"Certainly not," chanted Crowfoot. "'Look
yonder: look yonder' comes first. Begin again,
please. 'London's burning, London's burning.
Look yonder, look yonder. Faar! Faar! Yes
that's better. Ho-o, bring me some water.' "
A. G. got tired of this before London had
burned very seriously, and strolled across to the
piano, where he improvised a singularly unsuccessful accompaniment, dabbing fortuitously at
the keys.
"There was a delightful madrigal we used to
sing," he said when London had finished burning,
"but I can't quite remember the tune, though it
was something like this, and I haven't got any
recollection of the words. Ah, I believe I've got
it."
Crowfoot, now trembling with unsuppressed
passion at these interruptions to his glee-party,
laughed in a shrill, unkind manner, quite devoid
of merriment.
"Extremely charming," he said; "but I don't
think we can attempt anything without words or
music. Page 32, 'Oh, who will o'er the downs
so free.' "
A. G. instantly began to pick out the air' with
one finger. He got mixed up with some other
tune.
"Are you ready?" said Crowfoot, to drown




FIRST YEAR                 67
these  futile  fragments.  "On  the  fourth
beat-     "
The glee-book which he had propped up against
the ink-bottles slipped from its place and the dedicated pens skipped about.
"Oh, who will with me ride?" said A. G. "Nobody would ride with me for very long, because
I should undoubtedly fall off before I reached
my blooming bride. The noise would probably
wake the varlets, ha, ha! and they would all see
the greeting fair that passed there-"
"On the fouth beat," said Crowfoot in a
strangled voice.
This time the glee got resonantly started, and
Crowfoot, flushed with victory over A. G., whose
conversation and whose tinklings on the piano
could no longer be heard, never let his choir get
below a fortissimo. He brandished his paperknife, he adjusted the lenses of his spectacles for
large and small print in rapid succession without
the smallest cause for so doing with one hand, and
in trying to turn over one leaf of the glee-book
with the other, turned over three or four, and
found himself singing "Mr. Speaker" again before he could stop himself. Then in turning back
he dropped his baton, and his spectacles slipped
off his nose, but he picked them up with amazing
agility, and beat time with them until he recovered
the paper-knife. He beamed encouragement on
his choristers, and dabbed Tommers on the end
of the nose with his conducting-rod, which made
Tommers sneeze. And all the time he kept on
singing,
" 'The farlets, they were all asleep' —dear me,
I beg your pardon, Tomlin-'and none was there
to see'-I hope I didn't hurt you: do you feel the
window?-'the greeting fair that passed there'



68   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
a little rallentando-'between my love ' —pause
and wait for the beat-'and me!'"
The pause was embellished by a second sneeze
from Tommers and a loud cracking hiccup from
David, who, with ears again firmly stopped, had
happened to look up at Mr. Crowfoot at the moment he was beating time with his spectacles, and
had gallantly attempted, but vainly, to check an
uncontrollable spasm of laughter. Nobody knew
how long the pause was to be, as Mr. Crowfoot
forgot to give the beat, and he sang "and me"
all by himself, in a voice quivering with emotion.
A. G. had not yet got quite so far, and added "and
me" on his own account a few seconds later.
Crowfoot surveyed his choir with pride.
"Very good, really very good indeed," he said.
"I don't believe we dropped half a tone. Just
strike the note, Gray, will you?-oh no, that's no
good, because I forget what note we began on.
Very nice, though. We might rest and cool for a
little. Won't anybody have some more Tintara,
or another cigar? And some buns: the buns are
in the fender, and I hope I didn't hurt you, Tomlin. Now if we're all rested, there's one more
glee we might try. Will you turn to page 221?
Oh, there isn't any... Of course, yes, that's in
the second volume. I had them split into two
volumes to make them lighter to hold, and what
can I have done with all the second volumes?
Aren't they on the piano, Gray? Or are you sitting on them? No? Now that's very extraordinary, because I know I put them somewhere where
they would be handy. Ah, I kicked something!
Yes, here they are under the table. How very
droll! Page 221 then in the second volume. No!
I must cry peccavi. Page 41 in the second volume,
because I altered the paging when I had made




FIRST YEAR


69


them into two volumes so that the second volume
should begin at page 1, instead of page 180.
There we are! No, that doesn't seem to be right.
Where can the spotted snakes be?"
He hunted rapidly backwards and forwards
through the second volume without finding anything of the kind, and then luckily remembered
that he had detached the spotted snakes from the
bound copies altogether, in order to include them
with some further compositions by the same author. They were soon discovered among Latin
proses corrected in green ink, in his gyp-cupboard
along with wine glasses. He lucidly explained
how they had got there.
"Most amusing," he said. "I put them there
myself, for I knew I should have to get some
glasses for our glee-singing, and so when I went
to get the glasses I should see the spotted
snakes."
"Dear old Crowfoot," said A G. "It sounds
exactly like Delirium Tremens."
"Not at all. There would be the glasses and
the glee ready for our singing all in one place,
which would save me going to the gyp-cupboard
for the glasses, and somewhere else, which I
might easily forget, for the glee. There's nothing so wasteful of brain-power as to have several
things to remember when one will serve. But then
my gyp brought out the glasses for me, and so it
slipped my memory where the spotted snakes
were. "
Crowfoot triumphantly dealt out the copies of
"Ye spotted snakes" to his singers, and as they
were mixed up with the Latin proses of last week
(or perhaps the week before, for the ink was indeterminate), some people got spotted snakes and
others pieces of Latin prose. But that was soon




70 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
remedied and Crowfoot put the collected proses
under the table-cloth, so as to be out of the way
for the present, while, subsequently, the unusual
excrescence on the flat surface of the table would
instantly remind him where the Latin proses were.
He was reminded of that, in fact, almost immediately, for he bounteously replenished Bags's
glass with Tintara and set it down on the edge of
the excrescence. It tipped up, and the rich purple flood was poured over the table-cloth. But
that was soon absorbed by the application of
sheets of blotting-paper, which were then put to
dry in the fender beside the buttered buns. A
heady ferruginous odour went up from the steaming sheets as the wine evaporated, and long before the glee was over they were quite dry, and
mottled in the manner of marbled paper. In the
secret recesses of his ingenious brain Crowfoot
conceived the idea of pasting them, properly cut
and trimmed, on to the covers of other books that
were worn with use, thus renovating the binding....
The spotted snakes proved to be teasers, and
taxed the utmost talent of the company. The
newts and blind-worms did a lot of harm by not
coming in right, and everyone got dreadfully
muddled over "Philomel with melody."   But
Crowfoot by no means despaired of settling
Philomel's hash at the next meeting, and offered
copies all round for private practice. This was
the final effort for the evening, though A. G. was
more than ready to impersonate Dalua or a fairy
again and sing any amount of the Immortal Hour.
But Crowfoot refrained from the smallest encouragement, and after pressing more wine and
buttered buns and Borneo cigars on everybody,
extended a general invitation, rather pointedly




FIRST YEAR


71


withheld from A. G., to assemble again next
Wednesday-no, Thursday, wasn't it, because it
was the winter term-for the same melodious
purposes. They clattered down with whistlings
and musical reminiscences into the court, and as
there was time yet for further diversion, David,
remembering that he had not given Perpetua any
treatment since morning, proposed fetching the
disgusting nymph and joining Frank in his rooms
for piquet or perhaps a little work. Frank was
not quite so sure that Perpetua should be of the
party.
"She stinks," he said. "Besides I thought
you were going into training for the picked game
and giving Perpetua a rest."
David considered this.
"As regards the stink," he said. "Bags shall
come too and bring Angelica. They neutralize
each other."
Frank was firm about this.
"Bags shall come if he likes," he said, "but
Angelica shall not."
"Soit," said Bags. "I mean right-oh," he
added hastily, as he didn't want David to talk
French.
"Just in time," said David, who was beginning
to say, "s'il apporte Angelique." "And as regards the training, I'll run once round Court as
hard as I can. I'll give you fifty yards start,
Frank, and if I catch you I'll put you into the
fountain   "
"Pooh!" said Frank.
"And Bags a hundred," said David.
"Swank," said Bags.
The effervescent A. G. had joined them, and
entered enthusiastically into these arrangements.
"Awfully jolly," he said. "An Olympic race:




72   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
how joyous and Hellenic! I will be the winningpost, and when the race is over I will be a bard,
and write a Pindaric ode in honour of the victor.
'Best of all things is Tintara wine and spotted
snakes, but it is your part, 0 my soul, to celebrate
the ambrosial foot-race between Blaize the son of
a Dean, and Crabtree the son of a baron, and
Maddox the Bachelor of Arts round the royal
quadrangle of King's, and crown with a garland
of song and turnip-tops'   Oh, are they off!
Why didn't they wait till I started them? Fancy
running like that after drinking Tintara wine and
eating buns! See how they run! I wish I could
run. I have not run since 1893, and that was only
along a platform to catch a train which I missed.
Why are we not all young Greeks in the morning
of the world?"
He forgot he was the winning-post and began
strolling along to his rooms, as the race swept
round the quadrangle, David going as if all the
hounds of spring and all the Rugby three-quarters
were after him. Bags ran with a high-stepping
gait and was being rapidly overhauled, and as
they came down the straight to where they had
left their winning-post, David was not twenty
yards behind the others who were abreast. Then
a despairing cry was flung into the night by Frank,
who was searching the darkness of the shadow
below Fellows Buildings for the winning-post
which was certainly not where they had left it.
"But the winning-post has gone," he shrieked.
"Race is off, David. It isn't fair. Where's
A. G.?"
David began to laugh and lost the advantage
that Frank's waste of wind would have given
him.




FIRST YEAR                 73
"Thank God, there he is," said Frank, suddenly catching sight of him thirty yards away.
The three of them, all in a bunch, hurled themselves on the winning-post, which by sheer weight
stood firm against the onrush. David cannoned
into Bags, whose high action tripped him up and
he rolled over like a shot rabbit on to the grass.
Frank cannoned into Tommers and ricochetted
into Bags. A. G. alone stood majestic and monumental.
"Ha, ha! how awfully splendid and swift and
beautiful and jolly," he said. "Why don't we
have races and singing contests instead of lectures and that sort of rubbish? Everyone seems
to have won and everybody has fallen down.
Awfully Homeric and idyllic and Theocritan."
David picked himself up and they all stood there
panting and exhausted. Just above were the
windows of the room where they had been singing, which Crowfoot had opened to let out the
thickness of the tobacco-smoke and the fumes of
the drying blotting paper. Tentative tinklings
from the piano now floated out, and the unmistakable voice of their host diligently practising
all by himself the difficult glee with which they
had concluded. High and quavering came the
notes on to the thin night air.
"Beetles black, approach not here:
Worm and snai-hail do no offence!
No offence! no offence! no offence!"
There was a pause. There they all stood, Tommers and Bags and Frank and David all stricken
into rapt attention, David supporting himself
with one arm round Frank's neck and the other
round Bags's, and beginning to squeak and mut



74 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
ter a little between his panting breaths....
There came a noise from above, exactly as if a
book had fallen on to the piano keys (as no doubt
it had) with a crash of notes, and they heard
Crowfoot clear his throat. Then his voice began
again:
"Philome-hel with melodee."
He struck a chord on the piano and repeated this,
phrasing it rather differently:
"Philomel with mel-ho-ho-dee-ee."
David creaked and Frank stifled him by putting
his arm across his mouth.
There was dead silence. Then Mr. Crowfoot
struck a single note seven or eight times on the
piano and echoed it with his voice. He began
again, putting in far more dramatic expression,
and declaiming the words in loud, indignant,
prohibitive tones:
"BEETLEEL BLAC APPIRACH NOT HERE!"
He struck the note again,
WORM AND SNA-HAIT DO NO OFFENCE!
NO OFFENCE...
David was shaking like a jelly, and muffled explosions came against Frank's sleeve.
V
DAVID'S performance at the picked game was so
deplorable that the Tooties, who for the first halfhour kept a keen professional eye on him when



FIRST YEAR                 75
ever there was the least opportunity of his distinguishing himself, took no further interest in
him whatever, nor ever again asked him to take
part in their trial shows. Poor David was quite
unable to do anything right on that sombre afternoon: if the ball was passed to him, he fumbled
it; when he wanted to pass, he carefully selected
one of the opposing side to bestow it on; and when
somebody made an opening for him to run, he
could neither get off quickly nor show any of that
speed which had originally aroused the Tooties'
fickle interest.
"Bungled every blooming chance I got," he
said to Frank, who dropped in to tea with him
afterwards. "Made a complete and utter Ass of
myself. And though I say I hate Rugger, I
wanted frightfully to play decently. But I didn't.
Couldn't pass; couldn't take a pass; couldn't
kick; couldn't run. Not even run! What's the
use of being able to run like hell if when you want
to run like hell you can't? Well, that is enough
grousing. I say, do be useful and make tea and
toast things while I have a bath and wash off the
memory of-of this Insolence!"
David came back girt in a bath-towel, and wandered to and fro between his bedroom and his
sitting-room as he dressed, diverting his mind
with pleasant topics of the future rather than
futile topics of the past.... One of the cheerier
lot was that he had lately been elected to the
Chitchat Society, which met every Saturday evening in the rooms of its members in rotation, the
host reading a paper on some subject connected
with Literature or Art, or something equally improving. The members consisted partly of dons,
partly of undergraduates who consorted together
on terms of sociable equality, and discussed each




76   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
other's papers with engaging frankness. There
had been something of a flutter in this studious
and celibate dovecote last week, for Poet Stapleton had read a passionate appreciation on Swinburne's views on morality as deduced from Poems
and Ballads, which had been very exotic and embarrassing. A dead silence had succeeded his
peroration, for discussion was really out of the
question and Stapleton had sat very defiant and
breathing through his nose. Eventually A. G.,
who of course belonged to this as to all other
societies, said "Dear old Stapleton, how awfully
jolly and hectic. Now let's talk about something
else."... To-night A. G. himself was to entertain his fellow-members, and David, warming his
bare shins at the fire, looked at the card which
gave notice of the meeting.
"A. G. on the Athletic Ideal," he said. "What
on earth does that mean?"
"Rugby football," said Frank promptly.
David laughed. It was better to do that than
go on grousing.
"How to funk and when, by one who knows,"
he said. "Silly ass! Is tea ready?"
"Readier than you."
David had a shirt on after all, and he sat down
in an arm-chair in front of the fire.
"I want tea more than trousers," he said.
"Besides, tea gets full of tannin if you keep it
waiting, and trousers never. I shall go to the
Chitchat."
"A. G. told me he hadn't had time to write a
paper," said Frank, who was secretary, "and was
going to speak instead "
"Then we shan't get away this side of Sunday," said David. "And next week's it's me. I
hope nobody will come: I shall sink through the




FIRST YEAR


77


floor with nerves. It's awful cheek my reading
my muck to all you savants, as Bags would say.
But I suppose it's good for me; it made me read
Marlowe's Faustus four or five times. Frank,
why don't they teach us to read English before
they try to make us write Latin and Greek? Why
should I sweat at Latin prose and iambics when
there's my own language to learn "
"Think of the unemployment among the classical dons," said Frank. "What would they do at
their age?"
David crossed one knee over the other and
scratched the top one.
"Well, I'm jolly glad you suggested I should
read Marlowe and try to jaw about it," he said.
"But I wish you'd write my Chitchat paper for
me. Then if I made any howlers, I could say
'Apply to the Hon. Sec.'... I wonder what
makes some stuff so good, and other stuff such
piffle. It isn't only the ripping language, and it
isn't only the subject. There's something behind
what a man writes which takes your breath away
or only makes you yawn. No amount of style or
splendid language makes you feel. That last
speech of Faustus's, you know, when he's waiting
for the clock to strike midnight and the devil to
come for him. Sheer, stark terror."
Frank took David's cigarette out of his hand
and lit his own at it. Then by mistake he threw
David's into the fire.
"Doesn't matter," said David. "Just jaw to
me!"
Frank considered this point. David, he knew,
took his views on intellectual questions as authentic gospel, and he had to try to make them
something better than piffle.
"There's everything behind what a man actu



78 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


ally writes," he said. "Truth, you know, and
red-hot sincerity. Marlowe must have been in
hell: that's why he can make you sweat when he
tells you what Faustus felt like when he was waiting for it."
"Ha!" said David.
"You can convey your truth badly or well,"
said Frank; "that's where words and style come
in, but they are only vehicles. You can only make
people feel by telling them what you know. Look
at Wuthering Heights: it's about as badly told as
a story can be, but that doesn't matter compared
with the fact that Emily Bronte was Heathcliff.... Or take 'Violets dim, but sweeter than the
lids of Juno's eyes —   "
"Oh, ripping," said David. "And that was
because Shakespeare had buried his nose in a
wet bed of them?"
"Yes. Lovely words there, too; but he'd never
have found those words unless he knew. Or
'There's pansies: that's for thoughts!' That
came out of knowing, as well as being aware that
pansy meant 'thought' in French. But when
Milton talked of a pansy, he called it 'freaked with
jet.' "
"0 Lord, did he really?" said David. "How
frightfully rancid! I hate Milton."
"Then you make a great mistake."
"But don't tell me to read Paradise Lost," said
David.
"Certainly I won't, because you wouldn't do it.
Don't skip about so."
"Me? I'm sitting as still as-oh, I suppose you
mean my mind."
"Yes. Get back to Marlowe a minute. Imagine
yourself trying to write the last speech of
Faustus. You'd cram it with red-hot pincers and




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boiling oil and gnashing of teeth, but there
wouldn't be an ounce of damnation in it."
Frank paused a minute and changed the subject himself. "You know less about hell than
anyone I've ever seen," he said.
David looked up in surprise.
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
"Oh, it happens to be true. That's what I've
always adored in you. When the nasty side of
people comes up, you only see the funny part of it.
You simply disregard the other, as if it wasn't
there. I say, we're getting rather serious."
"Well, why shouldn't we?" demanded David.
"It's you and me, after all. About what you said
just then. I can't help seeing the funny side of
muck.  When Bags told me about the gay
cocoons   "
"The gay what?" asked Frank.
"I mean cocottes, I could only think how priceless he must have looked with his arm round one
fat wench and the other sitting on his knee, all
stinking of musk, and smeared about with paint.
Oh my! How funny! Fancy calling that love!
But I don't know that I should have done any
better to be shocked. Bags would only have
thought me a prig."
Frank laughed.
"What a blood!" he said. "And of course you
wouldn't have done any better to be shocked.
Besides, it's your stunt not to be shocked, although you hate beastliness when it comes near
you. "
David was silent a moment, and the dancing
light in his eyes at the thought of Bags and his
cocoons died out, and they became quite serious.
Some memory, long buried, stirred in his mind,
and he covered it up again.




80 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"There are such a lot of jollier things to do and
think about," he said. "At least I think them
jollier, which is all that concerns me. Interesting
things, you know, funny things, and also quite
serious things. Anyhow, I don't think it's got
much to do with love to go sweating and mucking around with a cocoon. Love's something
better than that. And I shouldn't wonder if
mucking about in the way some fellows do rather
spoils you for it. But, 0 Lord, how I love my
friends: isn't that enough for a chap till he falls
in love in the regular way? If I'd got to kiss
somebody I'd kiss one of them. You for choice,
because I'm much fonder of you than the whole of
the rest of them."
Frank burst out laughing at these surprising
philosophies.
"Oh, David," he said, "there's no one like you.
You always make me feel as if I had just had a
bath with plenty of soap."
David flushed with pleasure.
"My word! You couldn't have said anything
nicer than that," he observed. "But them's my
sentiments. No harm in telling you, though I
guess you knew it.'"
David put down his large feet from the side of
the fireplace where he had put them and held out
his hands. "Pull me up," he said, and stood
there a moment still rather serious.
"Good thing that God thought of inventing us,"
he said. "Which being so, I may as well dress... Gosh, I've never smoked Perpetua all day.
Fill her for me frightfully carefully while I put
my trousers on, and don't touch her smooth
waxy bottom with your blasted fingers. "
The Chitchat assembled in Gray's rooms that




FIRST YEAR


81


evening at nine, the members dropping in by degrees. Frank arrived first with the minute-book
and the ceremonial snuff-box, and was soon followed by David and Tommers. As Gray had left
lying about the scarlet gown of a Doctor in Common Law (of which he knew nothing whatever),
David of course was bound to put it on and get
on a chair in front of a mirror to see how he
looked, and (equally "of course") a pepper-andsalt Scotch don from Trinity arrived at that
identical moment. On which Frank amiably attempted to divert Mr. Mackintosh's attention
from the coy David by plunging into conversation,
but Mr. Mackintosh totally disregarded him and
continued to fix David with a wooden and baleful
eye, while he divested himself of these insignia.
Then he said, "Good evening, Mr. Blaize; I
didn't see who you were before," in a tone of
withering sarcasm.
All this was slightly embarrassing and unsettling, and it was a relief when other members,
followed by the host of the evening, drifted in.
Gray was full of complacent apologies for his lateness: he had been obliged to attend to an urgent
trunk call on the telephone from London, and his
allusion to the Prime Minister seemed to explain
his complacence. At this Mr. Mackintosh gave a
short, hard cackle, for his sense of humour, which
had not been stirred by David in a D.C.L. gown,
was awakened by this, and remained, as they were
all soon to find out, terribly alert. He took some
coffee and the best chair.
The Chitchat, like all other honourable corporations, had its ritual. There was a large silver goblet filled with hock-cup which circulated round the
members through the course of the reading, and
before the reading began a snuff-box made a sol



82 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


emn tour, from which each member must take a
pinch. Those who liked snuff and were not afraid
of convulsive sneezing fits made a genuine dip
into it, those who were made a ceremonial feint.
Tommers thought he would have a go at it tonight, found it pleasantly aromatic, and took a
second helping before he passed it on to Mackintosh, who laid a train of it up his forefinger and
sniffed it into his nostrils with the mastery of
custom. Then Frank, in his capacity as honorary
secretary, read the minutes, which recorded the
disastrous dissertation on Swinburne, and called
on A. G. to address them on the subject of "The
Athletic Ideal."
Gray did not look very notably athletic, and
seemed more the ideal of a bon viveur (as Bags
would have said). But he evidently was intending
to enjoy himself very much, and with a cigarette
in one hand and a liqueur in the other he waddled
to the hearth-rug, where, since this was to be a
speech and not a reading, he took up his stand, a
picture of genial repletion. This was just such
an audience as he liked-half a dozen undergraduates to whom he felt a brother, and three or four
colleagues who would have to listen to the biting
reflections which he was prepared to enunciate on
their notions of education. He still wore his
collegiate cap and gown; the former was airily
tilted on to the back of his head.
It was the athleticism of the mind, he began,
which was to be the subject of some remarks which
he had not had time to write down. The tutorial
body to which he had the honour of belonging was
hopelessly unathletic; it was sunk in indolent torpor instead of being fit and active and bright-eyed
and wiry and lean. In training, in fact.
The lecturer drank his liqueur, and forgetting




FIRST YEAR


83


that he had one cigarette already, lit another at
the candle, by the light of which he consulted his
notes. It was so placed that it threw into strong
relief his enormous bulk. Mr. Mackintosh's eyes
began to twinkle. He liked his friend Gray talking about the duty of being wiry.
"Sunk in indolent torpor," repeated A. G., leaning against the chimney-piece. "How are we to
expect to kindle the fire of intellectual activity in
the bright young minds committed to our care if
we are content to be enclosed in the fatness of our
antiquated and conventional notions? Education,
as understood in England generally and especially
at her Universities, consists in plunging our pupils into a morass of sticky and useless facts.
There we all are, embedded in the morass, most of
us completely submerged, and the few bubbles of
ill-smelling gas that rise to the surface represent
our educational efforts. They flicker like will-o'the-wisps and entice our unfortunate pupils further into the slough. There is nothing Athenian
about us, nor joyous, nor Hellenic, no desire to
learn and to impart some new thing.... My
dear David, drink deep of that hock-cup and send
it on its way. I am extremely thirsty."
"But we've got to get out of the morass ourselves," he continued, "before we cease to lure
them into it. We've got to clean the mud of dry,
uninteresting, and probably quite erroneous facts
from our own bemired limbs, and make them swift
and strong with exercise in the joyous sun and air
and that sort of thing before we can hope to train
the minds of others. History, for instance: the
way we teach history is appalling. How can we
convey the spirit of Greek culture by teaching the
dates of Pericles and the Peloponnesian war and
Pythagoras and Plato? Five minutes' study of




84 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
the Hermes at Olympia, even in a photograph or
a cast, will teach you more about the greatest
civilisation the world has ever seen than learning
the whole twelve volumes of Grote's history by
heart."
A. G.'s discourse began to stray a little from
its advertised subject, for he found a difficulty in
deciphering his notes, and he had no clear recollection of what he wanted to say about the athletic
ideal of the mind beyond telling his colleagues how
hopelessly incapable they were, and that he had
now sufficiently impressed on them. Consequently
his own mention of the Hermes of Olympia distracted him from his topic to the consideration of
Greek statuary, on which he was perfectly competent to speak. He became discursive and far more
characteristic, and called the attention of his audience to the statuette of the Medicean Venus which
stood on a side-table and told them to look at it
earnestly for three minutes if they wanted to
realise the spirit of Greece. But before three
seconds were up the Medicean Venus reminded
him that he had once seen in the house of one of
the most prominent leaders of society in New
York a full-size bronze replica of the same with a
clock let into its stomach. Ha, ha! From New
York he took them to the falls of Niagara and his
own lecture on Greek art at Montreal. That
naturally led on to his return voyage across the
Atlantic and quoit-playing on the steamer. He
himself had proved an adept at the game, which
was extremely good for the abdominal muscles,
and was altogether awfully jolly. You stood
balanced on your toes and then with a swing of
the body and a sweep of your arm discharged
your missile. The attitude, in fact, was very like
that of the Discobolus of Myron (to get back to




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85


the athletic ideal), and he proceeded to adjust
himself to the pose of that renowned statue. Of
course it was difficult in clothes to show them the
lithe tension of the figure; they should see him
naked. However, it was this sort of thing....
There came a muffled explosion from the region of
his waist as of a button giving way under the
unusual stress of this athletic posture, and his
cap fell into the fender.
Mr. Mackintosh, sitting immediately in front
of him, had been regarding the lecturer with an
amazed and fascinated eye, and a mouth that had
fallen open from sheer astonishment. At the moment when Gray's cap fell off and his button
burst, he was drinking the hock-cup which David
had circulated, and his self-control broke entirely
down. He gave one loud, lamentable cry of
"Godsakes!" and hock-cup poured in torrents
from his nose and mouth, and seemed almost to
stream from eyes and ears as well. He set the
goblet on the table, and with a series of hard
cackling noises snatched up his cap and gown, and
hurriedly left the room. He was heard slipping
and stumbling down the stairs outside and out
into the court, from which yells of demoniac
laughter arose. They could hear him slap his
leg and roar again; these noises became mercifully fainter as he retreated. David, sitting in
the window-seat, saw his figure silhouetted
against the light from the porter's lodge, still
doubled up and writhing.
The other members of the Chitchat behaved
with the most admirable self-restraint. There
were ominous little creaks and shakings from various parts of the room, and Tommers got so red
in the face that he looked as if he might burst
into flame. Somebody sneezed. Frank propped




86 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


up his thoughtful brow with his hand, and David
could see his arm quivering. Nobody spoke and
nobody dared look up for fear of catching somebody else's eye.
Gray picked up his cap.
"I should like, Mr. Secretary," he said, "to
move that Mr. Mackintosh be requested to resign
his membership of the Chitchat owing to his gross
and ungentlemanly rudeness to his host. If he
does not take advantage of that clemency, I propose that he should be expelled; and if the Society do not agree with me, I shall resign myself.
He-he drank my hock, and ate my anchovy-toast,
and then thought good to interrupt my lecture by
wholly unmannerly mirth. Will you please record that, and act on it?"
This was all very dreadful, and David could
quite safely take his tongue from between his
teeth, where he had firmly placed it to prevent
his laughing, Tommers's crimson face regained
its natural hue and Frank's arm ceased to quiver.
A. G. consulted his notes, and having succeeded in
deciphering them, went straight back to the point
from which he had bifurcated into the Hermes of
Olympia and the disastrous sequel. Indeed it
was no laughing matter any more, for the harmony of the Chitchat had broken into wild and
perilous discord.
The lecture proceeded, though shorn of its richness and exuberance, and at the end a serious
discussion took place, to which all the members
devoted their best attention, partly to soothe
A. G., partly lest wandering thoughts should let
them too vividly recall the unique manner of Mr.
Mackintosh's exit. In spite of the urgent call
for gravity, that remained just as hideously funny
as ever, and David wondered what would happen




FIRST YEAR


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if they all let themselves go. WAould the indignant lecturer move that they should all be expelled and carry on the Chitchat by himself, or
would he resign? What indeed would happen as
it was? It was quite impossible to imagine the
Chitchat without A. G., and it was almost as
difficult to suppose that the Society would vote
for the expulsion of Mackintosh. They were all
within an ace of doing what he had done. But
it really wouldn't do to recall that explosion,
unique in the annals of hock-cup; it wasn't
safe....
Frank left the table as the discussion began to
grow thin, and came and sat by him in the window-seat.
"I want to talk to you, David," he said.
David averted his eyes.
"All right, but do be careful," he said.
"Pull yourself together, you ass," said Frank.
"We can laugh afterwards. Look here, this will
never do. What's to be done?"
David gave a gasp, and took control of himself.
"Get one of the dons to reason with him," he
said. "Or get Mackintosh to apologise. But I
don't suppose he will: a man don't apologise for
what he absolutely can't help. Somebody had to
laugh or we all would have. Mackintosh was
just the scapegoat flooded with hock-cup."
"Absolutely no use getting a don to reason
with A. G.," said Frank. "He wouldn't listen.
He'd only boil over again, and we should have
more rows."
"Well, let him cool down a bit first," said
David.
"Rather. But if it comes your way, do blow
on him. I say, I wish you'd stop behind when




88 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


we all go, as we shall in a minute, and let him
boil over to you, and then cool him."
"Lord, why me?" asked David.
"Because you're such a kid, and you wouldn't
put his back up again. And you're rather soothing if a man's in a bad temper. And A. G. thinks
you a bright, joyous child."
"But what on earth am I to say?" asked
David, rather appalled by this prospect.
"Can't tell. Just whatever seems to you suitable when the time comes. Pour oil."
Gray had had his ruffled feathers rather
smoothed by the seriousness of the discussion
with which the members had received his address,
and came rolling over to the window-seat. Frank
got up.
"The athletic Blaizides," he said, instantly occupying Frank's seat.  "Hasn't the athletic
Blaizides any contribution to make to our symposium?"
David laid himself out to be tactful.
"No; I just sat and enjoyed it," he said.
"Frightfully interesting. Have you got a photograph of the Hermes?"
Frank strolled away and picked up the minutebook and the snuff-box.
"Good night," he said to Gray. "And thanks
awfully. "
"Good night. Please write to Mackintosh and
inform him of my motion."
The others followed, but the obedient David did
not move. It was evident that the outraged lecturer was on the boil still, and he waited for him
to boil over. He did so.
"That ginger-haired, insufferable Scotchman!"
said A. G. "I have never been treated with such
deliberate rudeness. It's perfectly evident that




FIRST YEAR


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he and I cannot possibly remain members of the
Chitchat."
"Never saw anything like it," said David.
"Beastly rude. But as regards the other, of
course it must be him to go, if you feel like that.
How on earth should we get on without you?"
"Well, there it is. If he doesn't choose to resign, it's for the members to choose between us.
Unless they expel him, I shall go."
David scratched his yellow head. A further
repetition of his sentiments might not be a vain
repetition.
"Naturally we're all on your side," he said.
"We couldn't dream of losing you. We should
collapse without you."
This seemed to have an excellent effect.
"Well, I think I may say I've done more for
the Chitchat than anybody," said A. G. "I was
one of the original founders of it, and if we're a
flourishing institution now, I do take some little
credit for it."
"Rather," said David. "All the credit."
"And I've been accustomed to consider it a
gathering of gentlemen," said A. G. "Awfully
jolly evenings we usually have."
"Ripping," said David. "I was frightfully
pleased when I was elected. And rows are such
rot; they spoil everything...." A bright idea
struck him. "I think Mr. Mackintosh's rudeness
was really an affront to all of us," he said. "You
happened to be speaking-awfully interesting,
too-but when a man is rude like that, he's rude
to everybody."
"All the more reason why he should be expelled if he won't resign," said A. G.
"Yes, of course, in a way," pursued the artful
David. "But I do think somehow that it would




90 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


be more dignified, more like gentlemen, as you
say, to take no notice whatever of it. That's only
what I feel for myself, of course. I daresay the
others will think that we ought to hoof him out.
But a man who forgets his manners like that
really hurts himself more than anybody else,
don't you think, especially if they don't seem to
notice, and that makes his rudeness fall so jolly
flat."
David paused a moment.
"There'll be a good chance for more people to
resign or be expelled next week," he said, "for
I've got to read a paper, and I shall make the
most awful hash of it. You'll all laugh."
"Dear old Blaizides," said Gray. "I won't
laugh at you."
David was quick as a lizard on to this, darting
at a new opening.
"Oh, that's ripping," he said, "because that
means you'll be there, and that means that you
won't have resigned, whatever happens about old
Gingery Mackintosh. Of course the Chitchat
would never allow you to resign whatever happened, because they'd go phut without you. We
should have to make that impossible somehow
or cease to be. But everything would be ever so
much easier if you settled not to take any notice
of what happened this evening. And it would be
an awful sell for him to find that nobody had noticed what he did."'
This was rather sketchy and not strictly logical, but it served its purpose as a general cheerful medley of optimism. A. G. was not cool yet;
he still simmered, but he didn't quite snuff out
this optimism.
"What on earth he found to laugh at," he said,
"is utterly beyond me, but I have long ceased to




FIRST YEAR


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attempt to understand a Scotchman's idea of
humour. I was talking about Greek statues, I
believe. I don't know that there is anything excruciatingly funny in that."
"Not a bit," said David eagerly. "You were
just showing us the attitude of the Discobolus,
and-and then he burst. But it's rather a feat to
amuse a Scotchman, I think. Usually nothing
does.... I should like to see that statue. It
must be ripping. Is there a cast of it in the
museum? Mayn't I come round with you one
day and see it?"
A. G. got up.
"Certainly, dear old boy," he said. "I should
like to show it you. The right arm is swung back,
and the body twisted round...
He began to illustrate this again.
"That was what I was doing," he said, "when
Mackintosh suddenly thought good to spew the
hock-cup about my room. I don't see anything
extraordinarily comical about it. Dear me, it's
very hard to maintain the pose."
"It must be," said the unwearied David.
A. G.'s face was beginning to beam again with
his usual good-nature, and David decided to rush
matters.
"And then your cap fell off in the fender," he
said.
"Ha, ha! so it did," said A. G. "And a button."
"Yes, I heard the button go," said David.
"Ha, ha! Rather comical. Yes. Imagine poor
old Mackintosh showing us the pose of the Discobolus and losing a button, and having his cap
fall into the fender. I think perhaps I might have
been amused, though I hope I should not have
made such a ridiculous exhibition of myself."




92   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"0 Lord! Mr. Mackintosh in the attitude of
the Discobolus!" said David.
This was a lucky thought. David certainly
could not have remained grave much longer over
this second illustration of the statue, but now he
could laugh as much as he liked. There was A. G.
open-mouthed and sonorous at this ridiculous
picture and David could let himself writhe in his
chair.
"Oh, I say, I haven't laughed so much for
weeks," he said. "I must stop. It hurts. And
then you know, it was devilish funny to see Mr.
Mackintosh burst out like that. I nearly laughed
myself. And he kept stopping to slap his leg
when he got out into the court. And the last I
saw of him was all doubled up by the porter's
lodge. It was he who was so frightfully funny
all the time, and he didn't know it!"
David pulled himself together.
"Oh, I'm so weak," he said. "May I have a
drink? And it's ripping to know there won't be
any row. May I tell Frank that your motion's
off?"
The entire Society assembled at David's rooms
the next week to hear him read on the subject of
Marlowe's Faustus. As he had felt quite certain
that not more than half of them would turn up,
he had asked a guest or two as well, and now as
there was not room for everybody in his small
sitting-room, the overplus sat on his bed in the
next room with the door open. His paper, over
which he had taken immense trouble, was excellently written and deadly serious. He had put in
a lot of interpolations after the first draft, on
margins and between the lines, and sometimes in
the middle of a most striking sentence he couldn't




FIRST YEAR


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read these subsequent insertions. There he sat
underneath the electric light, twittering with nervousness, and looking quite absurdly young, with
the grizzled, ginger-haired Mackintosh on one side
of him, and A. G. on the other. He took rapid
swigs at the hock-cup as it went on its rounds,
and imprudently indulged in snuff as well. A
sneezing fit seized him as he came to the most
impressive passage, and he had to pause to blow
his nose.
"The flame of the nethermost pit scorches us
as we read," said David rather hoarsely. "Even
from the first we realise that this is-can't read
it: oh yes-that this is no imaginative effort of a
student who has merely pictured to himself the
horrors of ultimate damnation, but the authentic
agony of one who has felt the flame itself-"
He took a sip at the hock-cup, and hurriedly
passed it on to Mackintosh, jogging his elbow.
"Sorry, Mr. Mackintosh," he said. "From the
first the spiritual horror begins to close in upon
us; the end is inherent in and inevitable from the
beginning. The following passage, for instance,
which occurs quite early in the play ---"
David took up his Marlowe and couldn't find
the place, but after turning backwards and forwards a little he got it. Tommers sneezed.
David read:
"Faustus. Where are you damned?"
David had to stop. One more belated sneeze
was coming, and he got it over. Then in a
wheezy voice he began again.
"Faustus. Where are you damned?
"Mephistopheles. In Hell. [Distant laughter
from the bedroom].
"Faustus. How comes it then that thou art
out of it?"




94 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


[More laughter from the bedroom, where presumably they felt out of it too.]
David gave a sort of despairing hiccup, but
went on. "Mephistopheles. Why, this is Hell,
nor am I out of it."
There was a snorting sound from the sofa, and
a suppressed tremor went round the room. But
suppression was impossible when, in the tense
silence, Tommers sneezed again. The Chitchat
was dissolved in laughter, and the reader was
worse than anybody.
David wiped his eyes and collected himself
again.
"There's some more," he said, "but it's frightfully serious. Hadn't I better stop?"
"Eh, that's a nice lad," said Mr. Mackintosh.
"No, Mr. Blaize, go on. We'll be grave. We
want to hear what you've written. A jolly good
paper-very well constructed."
And at that, audience and reader became perfectly serious. It wasn't only that it was bad
luck to laugh at David, though it seemed to amuse
him; it was that what he had to say was very
good stuff. For ten minutes more he read in
silence, and came to his peroration.
"And he's lost, he's damned, and he knows it,"
said David, "and the gain of the whole world has
not profited him in comparison with that. He
sees where Christ's blood streams in the firmament, and knows that a drop of it would save his
soul. But between him and it there is the great
gulf fixed of his deliberate choice, the same gulf
that severed Dives from Lazarus, who would
have brought him a drop of water for the ease of
his eternal torment. Faustus dare not call on
Him, a drop of whose blood from that infinite
stream that suffuses the firmament would save




FIRST YEAR


95


him, for by his own will and conscious choice he
has betrayed and crucified Him, in that he has
betrayed and bartered his own soul. His is the
exceeding bitter cry, for the mess of pottage is
finished and the birthright of his salvation forfeited."
David put down his manuscript, and looked
deprecatingly round. He had done his best, and
it was nice of them not to say "Piffle."
Mr. Mackintosh stretched out his hand for the
sheets that David had read.
"A fine, thoughtful paper," he said, "well conceived, well expressed, and a great sincerity behind it all. For my part, I've no criticism to
make on it, and no question to ask the reader.
Admirable. But I should be glad to read it over
to myself again, if you'd be so kind as to lend it
'to me. A paper that makes one want to think
rather than talk."
"Awfully proud," said David, "if you really
want to see it."
He got up, effacing himself from the limelight,
and perched on the edge of Frank's chair.
"Well done, David," he said. "Jolly good."
"Oh, rot. You suggested the only decent idea
in it," said David.
His audience began to circulate and relax; there
was no doubt that he had made them tense....
Someone had been thoughtful enough to hide
Perpetua and it was only after considerable
search that David found her under his pillow.
Then came a movement of departure among the
dons, and Mackintosh found an opportunity to
corner A. G., who, up till now, had been sublimely unconscious of his presence.
"I owe you an apology, Mr. Gray," he said.
"Something overcame me at our meeting in your




96 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


rooms a week ago, and you know that though
Scotchmen seldom laugh, it's a terrible affair
when they do. I hope you'll overlook it."
Now, no one could be stuffier than Gray, but on
the other hand no one could be breezier.
"Oh, that's all right," he said. "Delighted to
have amused you. I was quite wrong to have
been annoyed, as I confess I was. I should have
laughed too, like that delightful boy just now,
when we were all so rude to him. Not that you
were rude. Not a bit. Quite all right."
There was a loud squeal from the reader.
Frank had twitched Perpetua out of his hand.
"But it's not fair," cried David. "If Bags
smokes Angelica, I'm blowed if I won't smoke
Perpetua. Have some hock-cup; have a cigarette; have anything you like. But it's beyond a
joke to lay hands on my stinking nymph. You'll
be like Faustus...."
VI
"I WISH you would attend," said David. "It's
really very interesting."
"I am attending," said Bags, turning the page
of the book he was reading-Maupassant was
wonderful at skating over the thinnest ice and
never quite falling through.
"Well, there it is. Why is it that I can only
run when I'm terrified, and not when I choose?
If you've got the power, why can't you use it?
I saw a book the other day, translated from the
French, by a man called Coue-"
"Perhaps you mean Coue," said Bags.
"I don't think so. I fancy his name was Coue.
He said that if you want to do anything or be
anything, you've got to say it over to yourself




FIRST YEAR


97


twenty times before you go to sleep. I think I'll
try that."
"Do," said Bags.
"I shall say to myself every night, 'I will run
like lightning-I will run like lightning,' twenty
times. But wouldn't it be awful if it took effect
quite suddenly, like a pill, in the middle of chapel,
and I began sprinting up and down the choir?"
David picked up the photograph of a girl that
stood on the chimney-piece.
"Oh, I say-rather fetching!" he observed.
"Is that one of the cocoons?"
"No; it's my sister," said Bags, shutting his
book and getting up. It was no use trying to
attend, and after all, the babbling David was
just as amusing, though not quite in the same
way.
David giggled in a silly manner.
"Sorry," he said. "I seem to have put my
foot in it. Let's change the subject. I believe
I've grown; I can see over the top of your head.
Golly, you've got an Athenaeum tie on, what a
blood you are, Bags. 'The tie that he's got's
Athenaeum. And he'll take jolly good care that
everybody should see 'um.' Ha, ha! Poetry.
Can't think of any more rhymes, at least only one,
and that would not be quite delicate. I'm so glad
I'm genteel, aren't you? About running, now.
I'm going into training for the Freshman's
sports, I think. They come on in a fortnight, and
why shouldn't I run in the quarter? Hundred
yards is no use to me. I can't start."
"Doesn't the pistol frighten you?"
"Not a bit. If I could persuade myself that
there was a bullet in it just going to be discharged at my hinder-parts, it might. What a
splendid sensational story you could write about




98 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


a fellow who was running in the hundred yards,
and who had had a row with the starter, by cutting him out with his best girl. So the starter
put a bullet in the pistol, with the intention of
shooting him in the middle of the back-"
"Is that all?" said Bags.
"No. He made a bad shot, and killed the best
girl, who had come to see Sebastian Maltraversthat was his name-win the hundred yards.
That's all, and I should say it was about enough.
Where's Angelica?"
"Sick," said Bags.
"Made you sick, I expect. So as it's a nice
day let's go down to Fenner's this afternoon, and
we'll borrow a pistol, and you shall see whether
you can make me get off the mark within ten
minutes of the time you fire it. Ten minutes, you
know," said David argumentatively, "is a long
time to remain at the start in a sprint. If you
were in for a fifty-mile race, it wouldn't matter
so much; but I maintain that if you don't start in
the hundred yards within ten minutes after the
other fellows, you materially handicap your
chance of winning. What a beautiful sentence.
So come to Fenner's and everybody will see your
tie, and everybody will see me with a blood."
"Right," said Bags. "Lunch with me first, if
you like."
"I should like. But latish, as I'm playing tennis at twelve with Frank. And after Fenner's
I'm going to a Turkish bath with Tommers, and
there's Crowfoot's glee-singing this evening. A
nice-ish sort of day. I wonder what else I can
cram in!"
David had determined not to sully the splendour of this nice day with work of any kind. He
had been really very industrious lately, for Frank




FIRST YEAR


99


was studying hard for his archeological tripos,
and that made an incentive to him, for it was
natural to spend much of the day with Frank,
and since he was working, to work too. But today some lure of the spring beckoned, making a
boiling in his blood with which Demosthenes did
not accord, and while he dressed, he had made up
his mind to keep holiday. So having settled the
disposition of the afternoon, and left no leisure
for the temptation of books, he found some old
golf-balls, and to fill up the morning, until it was
time to go to play tennis, he went with them and
a cleek into the meadow across the river, and
practised lofting shots over it. The club was
singularly ill-adapted for such an enterprise, and
very soon all the balls but one had taken to the
water. Thereupon the infuriated David took the
survivor and recklessly drove it as hard as he
could in the direction of Clare. Encouraged by
the wind it developed a stupendous slice, and
soared in the direction of the chapel. David
watched the irretrievable with an awe-struck
gaze. "Gosh!" he said to himself-"all those
pretty windows." But the slice was too great for
such a destination, and soon it rattled pleasantly
on the roof of Fellows Buildings.... As the
Provost appeared at that moment out of the
Lodge, David thrust the cleek down his trouserleg, and walked chastely to his room with a pronounced limp.
Frank had insisted, as soon as David came up,
that he should take up this game of "real" (opposed to "pat-ball") tennis, which, according to
his estimate, outshone all others. He himself had
played second string for the University last year,
and would probably play first string this year,
unless by an event wholly unprecedented it was




100 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


this amazing pupil of his who, after one year's
acquaintance with the game, deprived him of that
distinction. Some one particular form of ballgame "sets the genius" of most athletic and
quick-eyed boys, and it was evident from the first
that the king of games was what set David's.
The stooping classical stroke which most find it
so hard to acquire, came natural to him; he cut
the ball the first time he went into the court, and
he learned the abstruse tactics as if they were a
recollection to him, easily recalled. Half-way
through his first term Frank could scarcely give
him thirty; by the end of that term the odds had
been reduced to half-thirty; and now they made a
close match of it at fifteen. His rapidly acquired
skill was really rather uncanny; if A. G. was a
reincarnation of Heliogabalus, David was that of
a tennis-marker.
This morning, from sheer exuberance of the
spring, and the desire to make perfect shots exactly one inch above the top of the net, David put
the first eight services he received exactly one
inch below the top of the net, and Frank won
the first two games without a ball being returned
at all.
"Oh, send something back soon," he observed;
"I'm getting awfully cold."
They had each of them won a set, and the third
was left undecided at eight games all, when their
hour was up, and limber with their game, they
walked home along the Backs, where blackbirds
were fluting in the college gardens.
"Wish I had an orange beak, and could sing
like that," said David. "By the way, we sing
this evening. You'll come to Crowfoot's gleeparty, Frank?"




FIRST YEAR


101


" Can't; I must work."'
"Oh, come for an hour. I'm having an immortal day, entirely full of pleasure, and you're part
of it. Besides, you must see Crowfoot's new
dodge. "
David began to walk with very small steps, adjusting imaginary sidelights on phantom spectacles and clearing his throat a great deal as he
precisely reproduced Crowfoot's voice.
"Very well, take an ordinary wooden matchbox," he said, "and first cut off the prepared
surfaces on the outside, on which you strike your
matches, and gum them on to the inside of the
box. Or small drawing-pins would do. Then
there you are! If you're out in the rain, and
want to get a light for your cigarette-it applies
equally to a pipe-ycu pull out your match-box,
and the striking-surface keeps as dry as a bone.
Then you strike your match on the inside of the
box, though of course you must take great care
that you don't set light to the heads of all the
other matches, because then you'd be worse off
than ever. Perhaps it would be prudent to practise with empty match-boxes first. Stay! I have
it. You could remedy that by having only one
match in each box, or if you didn't like that you
might have the other matches made of some noninflammable material. Or keep saccharine in your
spare boxes, or lozenges."
"All of which you made up," said Frank.
"No; he is thinking of a dodge to strike
matches in the rain," said David. "Stand still
a shake..."
With the aid of Frank's shoulder, David
mounted on to the low wooden rails that line the
path and tried to walk along them. He fell off




102 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
at once, and began talking in Crowfoot's voice
again.
"Which shows that the rails ought to be ever
so much broader," he said. "Or better still,
have the path entirely covered with wooden rails,
so that you wouldn't tread on the newts and
blind-worms. Or you could have no rails at all,
which perhaps would be the most convenient plan,
since then you couldn't fall off them in any circumstances.... Oh, Lord, the spring's got into
my head. So do come to glee-singing for an hour.
What a ripping game we had! I am glad you
made me take up tennis."
"I'm not sure it wasn't very unwise of me,"
said Frank. "I believe you'll be beating me level
before the 'Varsity ties next term."
"Rot! It was only a fluke I won a set this
morning at fifteen. I had all the luck right away
through; you can give me fifteen and knock my
head off five times out of six."
"I can't. If you win to-morrow, we'll play at
half-fifteen for the future."
"Stay!" said David, still Crowfooting. "Halffifteen is seven and a half. Therefore if I ever
got to forty, I should be forty-seven-and-a-half.
So if you say that forty-five is game, very well,
it's my game. But if fifty's the game, or fiftyfive"David, you're daft," said Frank.
"I am. It's the spring, I tell you. I woke
tipsy with it, and swore a vow not to do a stroke
of work all day, but give it to idleness, like Wordsworth, who never did a stroke of work in his life.
To-morrow I'll be sober. I say, there's two
o'clock striking, and I'm lunching with Bags.
After that we go to Fenner's, and I shall probably




FIRST YEAR


103


be sick if I try to run, because I shall have eaten
too much rich and luxurious food."
David spent a desultory afternoon of mixed
athletics. He filched a pistol from the pavilion
at Fenner's, and practised starting for the hundred yards without much success. The pistol
missed fire a good deal, and once springing forward from a complicated attitude of expectancy,
he hit his nose a severe punch with his knee. The
quarter of a mile with Bags, who held the pistol,
as time-keeper, went better, and David came
storming down the straight to the finish with huge
strides, catching up and passing a rather fancied
runner thirty yards from the post. But as Bags
had forgotten to set the stop-watch going, the
only conclusion to be drawn from it was that
David had run the quarter in so small a fraction
of a second that it was totally unrecorded.... A
little high-jumping forced him to resign himself
to the fact that, even at the cost of a stitch in his
side, he could not clear more than two feet six
inches, which did not seem up to any known
standard except that of small children and elderly
ladies. One leg jumped magnificently, but the
other wouldn't go; or the other went like a rocket,
after the first had knocked the lath down. Then
Bags tried to put the weight, and narrowly
escaped dropping it on his own toe, and at the
second attempt split the buttonhole of his collar
and dislocated his new Athenaeum tie. A little research in the matter of hammer-throwing followed, and David, wildly whirling and shouting
"But I can't let go," fell in a heap as the hammer
flew high in the air and came to earth again at
the measured distance of seventeen yards. This
performance brought on them the baleful attention of a young gentleman like a beetle, with very




104 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


short shorts and hairy knees, who proved to be
the President of the Cambridge University Athletic Club, and constantly ran three miles for fun.
He asked David, clearly with sarcastic intent, if
he was throwing the hammer with a view to entering for that event in the University Sports, and
David with a cowed but propitiating demeanour
said that he was only ragging. Upon which the
withering Beetle said "So I perceived."
They strolled back to King's again in a mellow,
windy sunset, and David, quite unwearied, picked
up Tommers to go to a Turkish bath. Tommers,
being of a fleshy habit, was an habitual bather,
but his bath always made him feel so hungry
afterwards that he ate a Gargantuan dinner,
which undid all the good that the profuse action
of the skin might have done him.... A loud
crooning noise welcomed them as they went into
the hot-room, and there, lying on a stone-slab in
the corner, was a large pink jelly, which turned
out to be A. G. He was singing vague melodies
to himself, in a dripping kind of trance, and
looked even less like the Discobolus than usual.
So absorbed was he in sweating and song that he
did not notice their entrance till he rolled over
on his side. Whether lying on his back or on his
side, he looked the same shape.
"Why, it's David and Tomlin," he said. "How
awfully jolly! I came here in order to feel like
a Sultan with the gorgeous East in fee, but the
gorgeous East will demand fees instead of paying
them. Turkish baths ought to be supplied gratis
to any member of the University; indeed, they
ought to be compulsory instead of Greek. David,
your shoulders are the most Praxitelean things I
have ever seen. Ha, ha! How awfully jolly to be
Praxitelean."




FIRST YEAR


105


He struggled to a sitting position on his couch.
"I shall never be Praxitelean," he most truthfully remarked. "If I took Turkish baths from
morning till night, and tricycled all the rest of
the time, I should never become truly statuesque.
'Spreading,' as dear old Gilbert said, 'is the taperwaist!' I fancy that I suggested that very lyrical
outburst. Thickly spread, in fact, like bread and
butter. But I felt quite lithe and sinuous till I
saw you. Why should age be attended with
obesity, as well as all its other disadvantages?
Where is my shampooer? Oh, there you are,
Dickie; I am ready for you: I am a dem'd moist,
unpleasant body, like Mr. Mantilini. Awfully
jolly being pinched and poked and pommelled."
He walked majestically into the shampooingroom, and poured out an incessant monologue, interspersed with little squeals and shrieks as
Dickie stroked and squeezed his fat ribs, and presently there was a loud splash heard (accompanied,
so David swore, with a hissing noise as of a redhot substance being plunged into cold water) as
he fell into the tank. Then swathed in toga-like
towels, he retired to the cooling-room with a cup
of tea and a vermouth and a cigarette.... Somehow, there was an autumnal touch about him as of
a rich, red, ripe October, strangely unlike David's
vernal idiocy.
Despite the lure of Crowfoot's wet-weather
match-box and any other similar dodges, Frank
resisted the joys of glee-singing after Hall, and
applied himself to the study of the cult of Asclepius, certain that when David had drunk his fill of
spotted snakes and Tintara wine he would come
to disperse his industry.... And really the subject was enthralling. Asclepius was only a human




106  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
doctor, it appeared, in Homeric times, with his
two sons both in the business, the one a surgeon,
the other a general practitioner. Then, as people
began to think more about their health, he was
deified, and took his place among the hierarchy of
authentic gods, as the son of Apollo, and instead
of calling in the doctor when they were ill, the
Greeks went to the sanctuaries of the divine
physician and slept in his sacred precinct. Sometimes the god cured them as they slept (palpable
faith-healing), sometimes they dreamed in curious
ways about their diseases, and in the morning
they recounted their dreams to the priest, who
interpreted them into the terms of a treatment.
There were hydropathic establishments in the
sanctuaries, and inclined planes up the steps of
the temple, so that cripples might be wheeled up
in their bath-chairs. Many patients were confirmed hypochondriacs, who clung to their ailments, and kept experiencing new and interesting symptoms, till the god got fairly fed up with
them and exhibited signs of impatience. To one
such he ordered a mustard-plaster all over his
body, to give him something real to think about,
and the unfortunate patient, thus drastically
cured, or at any rate not desirous of any further
prescription of the kind, put up an inscription in
honour of the god, and said that the mustardplaster smarted very much. What was wrong
with another patient was that he had not got
enough to do, and wanted occupation for his
mind; the god told him to go away from the sanctuary at once, and write a poem in his honour, and
make it as long as he could.... How completely
modern the whole thing was: just so, nowadays,
some people were ill because they had not enough
to do, and others felt that if only the medicine




FIRST YEAR


107


they were given to take were nasty enough, it
would do them good, and therefore it probably
did....
There was the charm of archaeology: as soon as
you began to dig into it, you unearthed something
completely modern. It was only if you confined
yourself to scrutinising the surface that you
found yourself exploring a dead world, grown
cold like the extinct volcanoes in the moon to
which A. G. so dithyrambically objected. But the
moment you got below the surface, you came upon
human nature again, which was as old as time and
as young as this spring day, upon people of the
twentieth century, with all their queernesses and
oddities, their pathetic pursuit of happiness, and
their insatiable love of beauty.
He got up to light a pipe, and sitting down
again forgot to take up his book.... What was
happiness, anyhow? Was it getting what you
wanted, or did it really consist in wanting? Or
did it consist not in either of these, but in consciously abandoning all thought of either, and
just merging yourself in all that was not yourself?
Instantly the immense contrast between himself
and David jumped into his mind. Did he himself,
he wondered, really like people because they were
people, or was he not rather critically observant
of them in order to see what absurdities they
presented? There was A. G. with his colossal
egoistic fatuity; there was Bags with his ridingbreeches and his cocoons; there was Gowles with
his golf, Crowfoot with his Tintara. Such ridiculous or contemptible points in them all formed
to him their main characteristics. How utterly
different was David's scrutiny from his! Nobody
saw people's rich absurdities with so perceptive
an eye, but David, cackling with laughter, loved




108 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


them on that account as individuals. He started
by assuming that they were all delightful, until
(or rather long after) there was indubitable evidence that they were not. He shut his eyes to
their most gross and blatant blemishes, till some
such was brandished in his face, and even then he
blinked and looked away and said, "Oh Lord, I
don't want to know!" Instead of marking it up
against them, he found some excuse, or else he
only saw the funny side of it, or chose to forget
about it; whereas Frank knew that he himself
would have said, "Oh, the fellow's a sweep or an
ass. Don't have anything to do with him." And
David's tolerance of bores and pompous people
was really colossal; indeed, no one ever succeeded
in boring David, for, like a hungry chicken, he
picked up from the driest dust grains of palatable
stuff and enjoyed them, and that appreciation of
his bucked up the bore, and he became far more
tolerable. David, wherever he was, always raised
the level of enjoyment, because he found so much
to like.
And all that was only the public David; Bags,
A. G., any Tom, Dick, or Harry, could see that
(and to do them justice, they did) even as they
could not help seeing his dancing eyes and his
strong brown hands and his sky-scraping spirits.
But there was a private David, ever so wise and
serious, who sat in a shy quietude far below his
bubbling nonsense and his ready laughter. And
yet even he was not the complete and entire
David; some day the real David would manifest
himself in the ways of a man with a maid, and,
in a certain sense, the private David would be
accessible to him no longer.
Frank knew that he was far more to David than
any other friend had ever been or ever would be.




FIRST YEAR


109


As far as David was aware of his own heart, that
heart was his, open to him and beating for him in
that sexless surrender which boys make to boys
and girls to girls. But there was a chamber there
of which neither he nor even David himself had
the key, which was dangling round the unheeding
neck of some girl unknown. She with the glance
of an eye and the twist of her finger would unlock it, and the David never yet seen by friend,
however intimate, would stand on the threshold,
and jubilantly take her in, and the door would be
shut on the two of them. And David, all the time,
hardly suspected that there was that locked chamber in him; he had not, at any rate, the sense of
an empty space unaccounted for. No girl, except
in one brief flash of remote summer lightning,
had revealed it to him as yet. David thought of
girls as amiable, inefficient creatures, slightly terrifying, and enigmatical at close quarters, but
easily avoided by the wise. There was a certain
daughter of a don, for instance, who doted on him,
and David, very polite but with a scared eye, ran
from her like a hare and escaped, slightly breathless, to less embarrassing companionship. But
one day, instead of running like a hare from some
similar situation he would prance up like a neighing horse, and when Frank whistled to him he
would give him no more than an ear laid back in
irritation at the interruption. And when the
wooing and the winning was done, they would all
be great friends, and everything would be completely changed.  Perhaps he himself would
marry too....
Well, this was a long way from Asclepius and
Frank with a shrug that expressed not what he
felt, but what a sensible person would feel, took
up his book again, for since he had absented him



110 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


self from glee-singing with David in order to
work, he might as well have something to show
for it. On this mild February night he had opened
his window, drawing the blind down over it, and
from the corner of the court where the songsters
were assembled there came fragments of Mr.
Speaker and spotted snakes. He could pick out,
now and then, the shrill, quavering tenor of Crowfoot, and then the lower voices joined in, amongst
whose no doubt was David's, who sat heavily
frowning with his ears stopped against the intrusion of distracting parts.  "Philomel with
melody."... Oh, confound Philomel! David
would be here presently and he had not done a
half-hour's solid work yet. He would send David
away, saying that he really wanted to get on with
his Asclepius, and David, if he thought that he
meant it, would go like a lamb. But Frank knew
that he would not say anything of the kind. Or
should he, just to see how David would take it?
Or should he, out of some indefinable bitterness,
be ill-tempered and silent, just to make David
wonder what he had done to vex him?
A. G.'s fat laugh sounded somewhere in the
court outside, and there was certainly David's
voice. Steps crackled on the gravel, and, as they
came nearer, words were audible through the open
window.
"Come up to my room, Blaizides," said A. G.,
"and while you drink a whisky and soda, I will
speak of the moon and the joy of existence and
that sort of thing. Bring your Jonathan Maddox
up with you, for you're never happy without him,
and we'll 'tell sad stories of the death of Kings.'
King's is expiring; there's no life left in it except
you."
There was a perceptible pause, and Frank lis



FIRST YEAR


Ill


tened with held breath for what David would say.
"Oh, thanks awfully," he replied. "But I'm
afraid I can't. I haven't done a stroke of work
all day, and I must put in a couple of hours before
I go to bed."
"Ha, ha! The model, industrious Blaizidest
Well, good-night then!"
Heavy footsteps, accompanied by crooning
noises, sounded in one direction; light ones and
a whistle in another. Frank did not quite believe
that David had gone to his room without looking
in.... Then, after a couple of minutes, there
was a stealthy tread outside, and the door opened
very quietly.
"And so Ananias escaped," said David. "Gray
suggested that I should bring you up to his rooms,
but I said I was going to work. You have to lie,
you know, on occasions, and this was one of them.
Lord, such an evening-ripping good fun! Never
was such a sing-song!"
Frank slowly rose to the surface, but kept his
finger marking a line half-way down his page.
"Oh! so glad!" he said. "I heard you singing," and he looked back at his book again.
David cocked his head, full of intelligence.
"I say, Frank, I believe you want to go on working, don't you?" he said. "Shall I go away?"
Frank continued to simulate the morose and
disturbed student.
"Oh no. Do stop-er-stop ten minutes!"
David went towards the door.
"Think I won't," he said. "I'll go and do
" some sap, too. I know how beastly it is to be
interrupted if you're keen on something. Rather!
Good-night."
Frank threw his book in the air. It came down
on the floor with crumpled leaves.




112 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Caught you that time," he said.
David wavered.
"Sure you don't want to work " he said.
"Absolutely."
David laughed.
"Ass!" he said. "But you did catch me; you
did it jolly well. I really thought you wanted to
sap."
"You lamb!" said Frank.
"Well if you wanted to sap, I didn't want to be
a nuisance. But if you don't —"
"Well, if I don 't?"
"We might sit and jaw for a bit. Or piquet?
Or come and stroll down to the bridge, and then
you can look in on me, and I'll give you a drink.
Spring-night, you know. You can almost hear the
things growing."
"And when we get to the bridge?" asked Frank.
"Throw matches into the river. Or rag. Or
anything. "
"Selfish devil," said Frank, "you always want
to have everything your own way."
David did not rise to this.
"Of course I do," he said. "Come on!"
VII
MAY had come in like a cold fish (not a lamb) and
had turned to a salamander, and David on this
baking morning was proceeding very slowly down
Trinity Street on his way to King's with his straw
hat on the back of his head and no waistcoat anywhere. There were some nice little things happening to beguile a leisurely wayfarer, for two
dons, one coming up Trinity Lane, and the other
walking very fast down Trinity Street, ran into
each other at the corner, and the cap of one fell




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off and the other dropped a quantity of papers.
It was pleasant that they should both be very
stout and very red in the face, and look so deeply
offended with each other. Then a playful Irish
terrier pretended that these shed papers were
rats, and pounced upon one and worried it. Its
owner (the reddest of the dons) gave a shrill cry,
which encouraged the dog, and a boy on a bicycle
ran into it from behind. So it sat down and
howled till it found out that it wasn't hurt at all,
and its mistress came up and smacked it soundly,
to restore it to a sense of reality.
A loud clattering of hoofs on the asphalt diverted David's rapt attention, and a tall, truculent
chestnut horse, with Bags rather imperfectly attached to it, trotted swiftly by. Bags was wonderfully smart, and so was the chestnut, but they
seemed to disagree about the matter that jointly
concerned them, for Bags was sawing at its mouth,
and the horse, with determination in its eye, was
trotting relentlessly on. Then Bags, evidently
without intention, touched its side with a bright
beautiful spur, and the horse broke into a sprawling canter. Then, almost best of all, Mr. Crowfoot, walking very fast and with all his lenses
adjusted for the smallest print, charged into the
Irish terrier, which was shaking itself after its
smacking, and became extremely unpopular with
it. It made short runs at him, snapping at his
heels, and Mr. Crowfoot whirled round and round,
nervously ejaculating "Good doggie," and good
doggie's mistress caught it a whack over the head
with her umbrella. Upon which it cowered in the
road, and another bicycle from the opposite direction ran into it. It was having an eventful though
a miserable morning.
David finished laughing, and felt rather miser



114 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


able too. His cricket, which throughout the term
was to have been the aim and the glory of existence, had gone completely wrong, and he had disappointed Frank and himself, and everybody else
who entertained the slightest regard for him. He
had come up from school with the reputation of
being the deadliest left-hand bowler seen for ten
years, and he had utterly failed to come off. He
had done nothing in the Freshman's match, and
in spite of that, had been tried twice for the University, and the sum of his achievements there
had been to miss an important catch. As for his
batting-but it was not kind to talk about his batting. In the less distinguished field of College
cricket he had been every bit as useless; all that
he could do to wickets was to lose his own, and
never once had he justified his existence. Lately,
and quite properly, he had not even been asked
to play for his college, which was a fine fate for a
boy who had been expected to make havoc with
the Oxford batsmen. The weather, it is true, had
been against him, for all the term there had been
slow easy wickets and David wanted hard baked
pitches, off which his slow bowling kicked and
bucked in the most unexpected manner. And now,
quite at the end of the term, when for all practical
purposes he had ceased to exist as a cricketer,
there came the weather he had been starving for.
Tennis had been an alleviation to these disasters, but even tennis threatened to-day to prove
Janus-faced. David had gone on improving enormously (here was the smiling countenance), and
had got through the challenge rounds of the University ties without losing a set. Frank, as he
had played for Cambridge last year as second
string (the first string having gone down), was
not called upon to play through these ties, and




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would meet the winner in the challenge round. If
he won, he would play first string against Oxford;
if he lost, he would be challenged by the loser in
the final tie of the preliminary rounds, to determine who should play second string. And this
afternoon David would meet Frank to decide who
would play first string for the University.
It all sounded very nice and noble. If David
was beaten, he would still play second string for
Cambridge; if he won, he would play first. It was
unheard-of that a Freshman should represent the
University at all, and considered in the abstract
the glory of it would have almost atoned for his
failure at cricket. But, unfortunately, the matter, however glorious in the abstract, was complicated in the concrete by considerations which
made his heart sink. It was Frank who had taught
him his tennis, and Frank, as David knew, put
tennis, as an achievement, above even cricket, and
would sooner, as he had said, play first string for
Cambridge, and beat the Oxford man, than make
a century at Lord's. It sounded quite incredible,
but so it was: tennis, according to Frank's notions, was the king of all games, and now the
person who perhaps was going to stand in the way
of the attainment of his ambition was David himself. Modest as he was about his own accomplishments, David could not help knowing that he had
more than a decent chance of winning. Frank, all
this term, had been working very hard at his
archaeological tripos, and he certainly had not
been playing up to his best form; whereas David,
who had no such occupation or preoccupation, and
had had his cricketing ambitions so soundly
thwarted, had thrown himself, brain and limb
alike, into this delectable sport, and was at his
very best. Only a few days ago he had been play



116 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
ing Frank in a friendly game on level terms, and
had taken three straight sets off him. It was true
that Frank had only just come out of the final
paper of his tripos, and no doubt his eye was a
little out after three hours of short focussing on
his paper; but with all allowance made for that,
he should not have lost three sets right off the
reel.
But what made the gloom in David's mind was
the way Frank took it: the approaching crisis had
certainly come between them. It made an embarrassment, and for some weeks past they had
not talked about tennis, and, if David alluded to it,
the subject was changed. Nor, indeed, had they
played together with the old frequency, for David
had had his ties to get through, and Frank had
been grimly practising with the marker, getting
coached in his weaknesses, and being very diligent
with the abhorred American service. One day,
previous to playing himself, David had watched
one of these encounters for a few minutes, and
had airily mocked from the dedans.
"You'll see how I'll make hay of that," he observed gaily when Frank had served a couple of
dead nicks. But Frank had not been airy or gay
at all.
"I daresay I shall," he observed with withering
dryness.
David, with that quiet comprehension of his,
was sure that he knew exactly how Frank felt.
The idea of being beaten and not playing first
string for Cambridge had got on his mind and
soured it, and he could not bear to talk about it,
especially to his possible executioner. Of course,
below such silly things as balls and racquets, their
friendship, David assured himself, was all serene,
but balls and racquets were assuming a nightmare




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aspect. It was Frank's last chance, too, of playing first string for Cambridge (that made it so
much the worse for him), whereas whatever happened this year, it was as certain as anything
could be that next year and the next David would
realise the ambition that the other so much coveted. David would thankfully have scratched to
him; he would have welcomed any mischance that
would have enabled Frank to win; but nothing was
in the least likely to happen between now and
three o'clock that afternoon. But something in
Frank's awful aloof attitude and the fact that all
chatter about tennis had ceased between them
made it impossible for David to tell him that. He
knew perfectly well that Frank, with his nerves
thoroughly on edge about the whole thing, would
make some rasping rejoinder which would not
have mended matters. Of course he was taking it
all wrong: David could not conceive behaving like
that himself... wretched it must be for him,
feeling like that.
"Wish I'd never gone inside a court," thought
David as he turned into King's.... And the
very next moment he was picturing himself volleying a service that looked as if it was going to
make a nick and laying down a slow, short, sticky
chase that wouldn't allow his opponent to get at
it. "Mustn't snatch at the service," he thought.
"Just play it quietly with lots of cut.."
He passed below Frank's window. There he
was in the window-seat, reading the paper.
"Hullo!" said David.
Frank looked up and then down at his paper
again.
"Hullo! " he said.
"Jolly hot," said David rather pathetically.
"Yes. Three o'clock this afternoon, isn't it?"




118   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
David assented and paused a moment.
"Won't you have lunch with me.?" he asked.
"Oh, thanks. But mine's just come. I was
just going to eat it now."
"Right-oh," said David, and passed on.
David heard himself hailed. Bags had got rid
of the relentless chestnut, or the relentless chestnut had got rid of Bags, and he waited for him at
the corner of Fellows Buildings.
"Feeling fit?" asked Bags.
David wanted to say, "No, you blasted fool,"
or something of the sort, but after all, these complications were not Bags's fault.
"Lord, yes-fit as a fiddle," he said. "I saw
you just now in Trinity Street. Your gee-gee
looked a shade too fit for you. Get a nice rockinghorse, Bags, all red inside the nostrils, and smelling of paint, and have done with those fiary
animals.'"
"Funny," said Bags with dignity. "I'm coming up to see you play this afternoon, and I'll
give you a topping dinner if you win. "
David took Bags's arm. Despite his cocoons
and his swank Bags was a very reliable and affectionate person. He sounded silly, but he understood.
"Well, I hope you won't," he said. "Oh, Bags,
it's all so rotten. Frank wants to win so awfully,
and he's got the jumps about it, and is as cross
as two sticks."
"That's pretty small of him," said Bags.
David instantly had to defend him.
"It isn't a bit," he said. "It's just got on his
nerves and he can't help it. I hope to God he will
win.
Bags pondered this.
"That's rather like you," he said. "You've




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119


been living for tennis, and now you'd rather die
than win. What an ass you are, David!"
"I suppose I am. But we all are, you know.
If I wanted a thing madly, like that, and you stood
in my way, you'd efface yourself. Proving yourself just as much an ass as me."
"Well, it's only a game," said Bags with the
intention of infuriating David, and bucking him
up.
"Oh, do shut it!" shouted David. "Only a
game, indeed! What more do you want     It
isn't worth while playing any game, unless you
think it's the most important thing in the world."
"Copy-book," said Bags. "Whatever's worth
doing is worth doing well."
"Wrong again!" said David. "There are lots
of things worth doing rather badly, but games
aren't among them. But what's the use of arguing? Let's go into hall and have lunch. No, I
don't think I want any lunch."
"Needle," said Bags.
"I know. One part of me is mad keen to win,
and that part's nearly sick with nervousness. And
the other part wants to be beaten. I shall be; I
shan't be able to hit a ball. That's what I want
most."
"Well, I want lunch," said Bags. "Come on.
And I think I shall order dinner, too. I'm sure
you'll win. By Jove, I'll ask Frank, too."
"Oh, for heaven's sake don't. It'll be the most
awful frost."
Bags burst out laughing.
"One minute you say you know for certain
you'll be beaten," he said, "and the next you tell
me not to ask Frank, because it would be a frost.
It wouldn't be a frost if he won."




120  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Oh, don't be logical," said David with a faint
grin.
The hours went on, and by three o'clock David
was changed and in the court. The dedans was
crammed with spectators, and the side-galleries
also, for apart from the fact that this was the
challenge round, the circumstances of a Freshman
being matched against one of last year's representatives who was also a cricket-blue was a sufficient draw. Frank was not ready yet; just as
David finished changing, he looked into his dressing-room, and said, "Sorry: I'm afraid I'm late,"
and instead of changing and chatting there, went
next door. So David had five minutes alone in
the court and hit balls on the wood of his racquet,
and put others into the net, and got on the wrong
leg, and mistimed everything, being, in fact, a
bundle of exasperated nerves. And why had
Frank behaved like that, as if they were total
strangers? Putrid behaviour.... Then, thank
goodness, the time of waiting was over, for here
was Frank. They spun for the choice of sides,
and David crossed over to receive the service.
It looked at first as if he need have been under
no apprehension that he would win. He could
neither attack nor defend, while Frank, playing at
the top of his form, kept piling up the games, two
love, three love, four love. And as he kept David
dancing from side to side of the court, and worrying him with his service, and placing the ball
precisely where he did not expect it, the jangle of
his nerves that had made him so bleak and beastly
began to evaporate. He knew perfectly well with
what whole-heartedness David would rejoice in
the victory that now seemed so probable; he knew,
too, that the thought that David might beat him




FIRST YEAR


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had so blackened his own mind that, if David won,
he felt that he could hardly speak to him or give
him a word of congratulation. Now he could
judge and condemn his own churlishness. As
they passed each other, changing sides, he had not
yet once looked at David, nor given him a single
word, but soon out of the corner of his eye he saw
David's troubled face, and knew that it was not
lack of form alone that caused that. David too.. he knew that if it had been anybody else at
all with whom he had to play off this tie he would
have been polite and pleasant. But just because
it was David, it seemed, he had to behave like a
cad-just because it was David....
Meantime a sort of desperation had come over
David. He would have been genuinely delighted
for Frank to win, but it wasn't this he meant,
namely that Frank should go on scoring simply
because he himself couldn't hit a single ball correctly. And then Frank 's victorious progress
wasn't making Frank cheerful or human again.
He was winning as fast as David could put balls
into the net, but he still wore that filthy flinty
face, withering as an east wind. Frank's general
attitude, his snappishness, his aloofness, had put
him off altogether, and he could neither concentrate on the game nor capture that breezy enjoyment which always characterised his play. A love
set had already gone against him, and Frank had
won two games of the next.... Well, it would be
over soon, and he only hoped he would be able to
stifle his own disgust at himself sufficiently to
make him genial when the last point was lost, and
to congratulate Frank on his victory with some
semblance of sincerity. At all costs, he mustn't
behave as Frank had been behaving for weeks.
And what was to happen afterwards? Somehow




122 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
he must expunge from his mind all Frank's behaviour, as well as his own wretched performance
in this nightmare of a match.
As they crossed over, David saw that his shoelace was untied, and he bent down in the marker's
box by the net to remedy that. And then he was
aware that Frank, instead of walking grimly by,
had stopped by him, and then came his voice.
"I say, David, I'm a rotter," he said. "I'm
awfully sorry."
For one second the devil took possession of
David. It would serve Frank right to say, "Oh,
don't mention it," in the sort of voice that Frank
had been using lately, and to proceed to lose the
match as soon as possible. That would take off
the edge of Frank's pleasure in winning, and well
he deserved it... But the next moment all that
was swept out of his mind. It was Frank who was
sorry, so what did it matter what he had done?
But it was useless to pretend not to know what
Frank meant: that would only make another false
situation. And so he was perfectly natural. He
looked up at him.
"Oh, nonsense," he said. "That's all right."
"But I am a rotter. Apologies."
David finished with his shoe-lace and straightened himself. And the ready laughter bubbled on
his lips.
"Oh, Frank, what nonsense!" he said again.
But Frank still lingered. He laid his hand on
David's arm.
"David, do buck up," he said. "It's all my
fault. For God's sake pull yourself together, and
take the stuffing out of me. You can. Knock
my silly head off."
This was elixir to David. He pranced out into




FIRST YEAR


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the court again, for whatever happened now, all
was right between him and Frank.
"I'll have a jolly good try!" he said. "Look
out! "
The relief of it! To David the match, already
half lost, became a game again, instead of being a
mute, miserable quarrel. He could not fight
against that demon of jealousy and ill-temper
which had possessed his friend, but that was exorcised now, and paralysed him no longer. As he
went to the dedans to get a couple of balls for his
service, he heard someone say, "Match as good as
over," and that heartened him even further.
Over, was it?...
Frank made a fine return from David's service,
which, two minutes ago, David would have failed
to get to at all, or, having got to it would have put
it into the net. Now, with taut wrist and his
weight behind his racquet, he sent it quite firmly
into the grille. Luscious stroke.... All his
gaiety and confidence poured back on him as from
behind some pent-up sluice, and whereas, before,
Frank had only got to return the ball anyhow
once or twice for David to make some childish
misjudgment and present him with the point, now
he had to fight for it. Already he had got a long
lead in the second net, but the wily David played
carefully and well within himself till he caught
him up, and then went all out, beating him in
attack and defence and everything else, and won
the set.... One all, and who'd have thought it?
And then began a grim and delightful contest.
With the withdrawal of Frank's black mood, and
his apology for it, the wholesome sun of sport
came out again from the obscuring clouds, and
they both played their best, enjoying instead of
hating the fact that they were pitted against each




124 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


other. All Frank's essential "decency" rejoiced
in the fact that this young devil to whom he had
taught the game, and who was showing himself
pupil no longer, but master, was David, and that
moral change in him, infectious as influenza, gave
the young devil a positive seizure of uncanny
skill. The paralysis of his induced depression
had passed, and here were he and Frank unhampered again by the ill-temper of the one and the
consequent trouble of the other. Never before in
all their friendly games had they been so unmitigatedly bloodthirsty, and the rivalry now was
no snarling contention, but something bright-eyed
and breezy, and gay in its fierceness. No longer
did David fret over the possible tragedy of victory, nor Frank over the bitterness of defeat.
What mattered only was by swiftness or masked
cunning, or force or quiet skill, to win this point
and that, to defend or to attack, and with all the
combined assault of brain and muscle to thwart
and discomfort the adversary.
David won this set, making him two to one, and
in what proved to be the final one he turned on
full horse-power, no longer playing a little inside
himself, and cautiously allowing a little margin
for error, but taking all risks in order to turn
Frank's attack into defence. He was not content
with getting back a difficult return and preparing
to be attacked again, but at all costs and without
delay he kept converting a losing position into a
winning one. If Frank forced hard for the dedans, he no longer stopped it only, just lobbing it
back, but attempted some vainglorious shot into
the grille, or with a dragging cut, tried to make
his return expire at the foot of the tambour. He
made plenty of mistakes, but to cancel them there
was a brilliance and a pace that left his adversary




FIRST YEAR


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always labouring and hustled. Halfway through
the set Frank was mopping and crimson; as for
David, his face almost threw a red light on to the
wall like a signal lamp. They were both fighting
for. all they knew, but Frank was fighting desperately countering attacks, whereas David was delivering them.
At this pace one of them seemed bound to
crash, which was a pity.... David had sent for
a drink of some sort, and as 'they crossed over,
Frank leaned against the post of the net, immensely glad of a pause. He wanted to win just
as much as ever, but not in the stuffy, sultry
manner which had been his, and though he meant
to fight every point to the end, doggedly and
with set teeth, something at the back of his brain
could contemplate, without dismay, what it would
feel like to be beaten....
He poked David in the ribs with the butt-end
of his racquet, as David buried his nose in a
lemon-squash, and this, according to plan, made
him splutter.
"Oh, shut it!" cried he. "If you only knew
how I wanted a drink."
"I like to see that. It'll put you right off.
David, I can't keep this pace up, nor can you.
Which of us is going to crack first?."
David finished his drink, and turned the glass
upside-down so that the lump of ice slid into his
mouth.
"You, of course," he said.
And then came the end. David got five games
to four, and proceeded to lose the first three points
of the next game, with three of the feeblest shots
seen for years. Then just to show he had not
cracked, he sent two expresses into the dedans
and laid down a yard chase, which he defended




126  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
with an untakable service, at which Frank could
only dab in the manner of someone trying to hit
a troublesome fly. He then got to advantage, and
put the easiest possible return which would have
given him game, set and match, not into the top
of the net, or even the bottom of the net, but on
to the floor, not far from where he was himself
standing.
" Great and merciful God!" said he very loudly,
and gave a hiccup of unquenchable laughter....
Once more he defeated himself out of pure idiocy,
got to advantage again, and then made no mistake. The ball, heavily cut, hissed over the middle of the net with two inches to spare, hit the
floor below the grille, then the side wall and lay
down stone dead off the back wall. Never was a
ball so classically killed.
Frank threw his racquet into the air and caught
it by the handle.
"You beast!" he called out. "Well played,
David!"
The appreciative gallery crowded and congratulated. Though only four sets had been played
there could not, in their opinion, have been a better fight, but then nobody among them knew of
the fiercer battle which the vanquished had won
over himself. A. G. came rolling out of the dedans and explained what a magnificent player he
had been in the days of his youth, and nobody
believed a single word of it. Bags was there
with a rather supercilious blood, and Poet Stapleton, in whose romantic brain a short ode to David
in vers libre was already seething. But by degrees they melted away, and David, after a prolonged wallow in a cold bath, strolled nakedly, in
answer to Frank's call, into the bathroom next
door, where he was sitting on the floor in the




FIRST YEAR


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draught from the window to cool by evaporation.
"The tennis-blue," said Frank, rudely-"The
blooming, swaggering, indecent blue."
David sat down on the edge of the bath.
"I know; it's awful cheek," he said. "I want
a cigarette."
Frank nodded towards his clothes.
"Coat-pocket," he said. "And give me one."
David rummaged.
"0 Lord, there's only one," he said.
"Pinch it in half, then. If they aren't equal,
give me the largest half."
They lit their fragments; Frank inhaled three
full breaths of the smoke, and threw the end out
of the window.
"What a game!" he said. "I wish I could
have taken you to the five sets. But I don't believe I could have lasted out another. I was done
to a turn as it was."                     I
"Rot! I should have gone to bits first. My
word, those two I missed in the last game!"
"Yes; shocking bad. But a decent one for the
end."
He got off the floor where he was sitting. It
was their way to be curt and telegraphic when
there was emotion about, but the situation demanded just a word or two. He took hold of
David's shoulders.
"I was a tragic ass," he said. "Sorry, David."
He pressed his hands down on the boy's shoulders a moment, then slapped him right and left
on the ribs.
"That's over," he said. "What about dressing?"
"Right-oh," said David. "Altogether rightoh. I say, I do feel such a beast."




128  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Oh, don't make me sick," shouted Frank, "or
I'll spank you."
"Oh, spanking is it?" said David. "And what
about me? "
He sprang up; Frank closed with him, and
David, trying to step back to get free, was blocked
by the edge of the bath and fell backwards into it.
So he had to dry himself for the second time, and
then dressed.
Frank had still a week of waiting for the publication of the lists concerning his archaeological
Tripos, and David was able with a very small
effort to persuade himself that the duty of a sympathetic friend was to shut his ears (as at gleesinging) to all frigid calls on his own industry
and studiousness, and devote himself to the sharing and lightening of those empty hours. Frank
had still to meet David's last victim in the preliminary rounds to determine who should play
second string for the University, but the match
was not productive of the smallest excitement,
and now tihe two of them had to practise the antiquated (though possibly noble) double game
which formed part of the event against Oxford.
That occasionally filled up a couple of hours in
the afternoon, but there happened to be no University cricket on, which would have occupied
Frank (though it would have provided no occupation for David), and the two were perfectly
content to loaf the days of waiting away, the important thing being that they should be together.
For once the climate (which is responsible for so
much industry) permitted the idle to be happy,
for day succeeded day in windless and unclouded
sunshine, and how was it possible to be lazier in
a thoroughly satisfactory manner than on the




FIRST YEAR


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upper river in a Canadian canoe which neither of
them had the smallest idea of handling? But
Canadian canoes are mild domestic craft, which
conform to the intentions of their occupants however clumsily expressed, and seldom upset. There
were materials for lunch or tea on board, a kettle
with a spirit-lamp, towels for bathing, cigarettes
for smoking, and books to be abstained from.
Usually something was forgotten and they then
managed perfectly well without it.
To-day it was towels that had been left behind,
so, when they had bathed in Byron's pool, it was
necessary to lie in the sun till they got dry again.
But the kettle could be put on to boil in this interval, and David, having (as he thought) lit the
spirit-lamp, threw the match into the dry crop of
the hayfield by the river's edge and certainly set
light to the county of Cambridge. A sort of
Molochian ritual had to be then performed, and
putting on their shoes they trod and stamped on
the fire till it was extinguished, and then found
that the spirit-lamp had not caught fire at all.
"So like life," said David bitterly. "With the
intention of lighting it and nothing else, I set fire
to everything except it. Gosh, what a smell of
singed india-rubber. What a pity one of us
doesn't faint, and then it would bring him round.
Or is it feathers "
"Feathers," said Frank firmly.
"'Feather,' said the Sheep," quoted David
from Alice.
"I'm not a sheep," said Frank.
"Never said you were. But surely the Sheep
may say 'feather' as well as you. You haven't
a monopoly of saying 'feather.'... I think the
country-side is extinguished."




130 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


David curled himself round the kettle to shield
it from the breeze.
"I could go on loafing and messing about like
this for ever," he said. "Why should I work?
Why shouldn't we go on picnicking till we're old
men with grey beards and one if not two feet in
the grave?"
"How about the winter?" asked Frank.
"Go to Egypt for the winter, or go to bed."
The lamp was prospering now, and he lay back
on the grass with eyes closed against the glare.
"O-oh the sun!" he said. "If it can behave
like this at all, why can't it do it always? Why
doesn't it clean itself up? Why doesn't it stay
still? Then there wouldn't be any to-morrow.
Oh, that's the earth, but the principle's the same."
"But there is to-morrow," said Frank, "and
it's lists at ten o'clock. I may get a second, but
that's the most. And I do want to get a first so
frightfully. That means I shall stop up here and
work for a fellowship. Otherwise, I shall have to
go down, and enter my uncle's office. Solicitor,
you know. Middle of London. Muck!"'
"Can't be done," said David. "You must stop
up another year. What's to happen to me otherwise? How selfish you are! Tell your uncle I
said so. Say that I wish it. Tell him not to be
a blasted tyrant. Tell him not in mournful numbers-     What on earth's tickling so frightfully?"
David rolled over and rubbed his back. He gave
a wild scream when he looked at the hand that
rubbed it.
"Covered with ants," he shrieked, "millions
of ants," and made a bolt of it into the water
again.
Frank moved his clothes to a less populous




FIRST YEAR


131


place, and presently he came out again; rolled in
the hayfield, and began to dress.
"You've got to be a passive-resister," he said.
"Kind but firm. Of course you will get a first,
but if you don't, you've got to take a ticket for
Cambridge, just an ordinary ticket, when the
October term begins, and merely come here. Smile
and look idiotic. Pretend you're deaf and can't
hear a word they say. Shake your head and smile
and count your fingers over and over again like
the village idiot. Say you've got a wife and child
whom you must support by archaeology. Say —
Hurrah! the kettle's boiling."
"I shan't go and hear the lists read out," said
Frank.
"I shall. You may expect me back at two minutes past ten with a crown of cabbages for you.
Blow it, there's some hay in my trousers. Life
seems entirely to consist of dressing and undressing. "
David had to take them off and turn them inside out to brush off spiky grass-seeds and pieces
of vegetable debris. Then he must convince himself that no ants remained in the small of his back
and that the bumble-bee which had been fussing
about and had unaccountably vanished was not
making a nest in his socks. But presently peace
and plenty of tea descended, and between speech
and silence they sat on until the sun began to do
its evening stunt. The light grew suffused with
crimson, and the level ray shining through the
tall grasses set the hayfield afire again, and the
trees by the river glowed in the molten conflagration. High in the air in screeching circles the
swifts went a-hunting; rooks returned from their
patrol of the pastures, and a heron winged heavily by. Above the red of the west the sun made




132 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


rosy the feathery wisps of strayed cloudlets, and
set them adrift in a pale-green sea. Then he
allowed a star, just one, but a good one, to be lit
there, and himself illuminated the gilded crescent
of the moon. He spread a curtain of clear shadow
as of deep and dusky water below the trees, and
so slid behind a bank of remote cloud.... When
they thought his stunt was over, he cleared the
cloud away, and emerged redder than ever and
absurdly magnified, balanced on the edge of the
flat horizon.
"Positively his last appearance," said David.
"Rather theatrical, but not sloshy..."
Frank got up-the thought of the impending
lists clearly weighed on his mind-and began
throwing the cushions into the canoe. There was
half a bun left over from their tea, and David
with due ceremony made a burnt-offering of it,
and examined the entrails with augur-like solemnity. They were doughy, but propitious, and
an unconsumed raisin indubitably pointed to an
archaeological success. He contrived, without apparent effort, to be fatuous all the way home, and
Frank lost the sense of impending calamity.
The burnt bun was right. At five minutes past
ten next morning David, with his cap and gown
over his great coat, below which were pyjamas
and no socks (for he had not fully awoke till ten
minutes to ten and was only just in time to get to
the Senate House for lists), burst into Frank's
room with a woe-begone face.
"You're ploughed," he said. "No mention of
your name at all. A fellow called F. Maddox of
King's took a first.... O Lord, how ripping! I
told you so, and so did the bowels of the bun.
Give me some breakfast at once. I feel rather sick
with running on an empty stomach. Bad luck on
your City-Uncle. "




SECOND YEAR








Second Year


VIII
DAVID had been spending ten days in London during the Christmas vacation, staying with Frank
and his mother. To-day Mrs. Maddox had gone
out of town for the week-end, leaving the house to
the two friends, and on Monday Frank was starting for Athens, there to spend the next four
months. He had annexed a Craven travelling
studentship, and, with a view to a dissertation
for his Fellowship, was to study at the English
archaeological school there. He would therefore
not be at Cambridge during either of the next two
terms, which was rather a dismal prospect, and
it was clearly proper that the two should have a
final fling together before the separation. Mrs.
Maddox therefore had openly lamented that she
was obliged to pay this visit, and would not see
the last of Frank, but as a matter of fact she had
carefully arranged it. Frank was devoted to her,
but she was aware that he would really much
sooner get David to himself for these last two
days, at ease and uninterrupted, than have her
muddling and messing (so she put it to herself)
about the house. So with many laments about
this tiresome visit which could not be put off, she
left them in possession.
David was an absolute stranger to London, for
with his father, first Archdeacon of Baxminster,
and now Dean of Truro in the remote diocese of
135




136 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


Cornwall, his holidays had always been spent in
the country, and probably he had not passed more
than a few weeks in town, all told, since he was
born. Their days therefore hitherto had been
spent in a wild orgie of sight-seeing and theatres.
The Zoo, the Houses of Parliament, the Museums,
the Tower of London, were all new amazements
to him, and had solidly filled in the interstices of
time between music-halls, theatres, and football
matches. He was seeing everything with fresh
eyes and vivid perceptions, and at one moment he
wanted to be an actor, at another a professional
football player, at another a taxi-driver who was
paid, actually paid, for the treat of whirling about
these fascinating streets. Best of all, perhaps,
would it be to be the policeman at Hyde Park
Corner and hold up all the roaring traffic precisely as he pleased by walking into the middle of
the street, with a large hand extended, and standing with his back to the panting vehicles, superbly
conscious that none of the awe-stricken huddle of
buses and motors would dare to butt into him. He
was like a lion-tamer who, without even the spell
of the human eye (for he turned his back on it),
cowed and controlled the roaring monster of
traffic. Or like Orpheus with his lute.... David
had even on one wet afternoon, when Frank was
being overhauled by a dentist, made the complete
inner circle of the Underground, starting at
Sloane Square, and taking a ticket only as far
as South Kensington, but continuing in the train
till it reached South Kensington the second time.
There was the joy, too, about this of indirectly
swindling the shareholders in the company, in
having made so long a journey for so small a
copper coin. David, in fact, had been just twelve
years old all these days....




SECOND YEAR


137


But this Underground excursion was an hour of
abnormal juvenility, and by Sunday he was getting satiated, and could manage to sit and smoke
after breakfast without wanting to go out in a
very thick London fog, to see what happened.
But the fog, peering in blackly at the windows,
was thoroughly delightful with its kaleidoscope of
varying degrees of gloom, and gave him the sense
of being warm and secure deep down in some
very comfortable rabbit-burrow.... But to-day
was the last: to-morrow the other rabbit would
have gone.
"Oh, Frank, I do hate your going away tomorrow," he said. "We shan't do anything more
together till God knows when."
"I know when, too," said Frank with dignity.
"I shall come straight up to Cambridge when I
get back from abroad, and spend the last fortnight of the May term there. It isn't such a
secret!"
"Talking scraps of modern Greek, like Bags
and his French, and I shan't understand a single
word you say. And on Wednesday I go back to
Cambridge, and it'll be rotten without you....
I say, do you think your mother can really bear
me till then alone? It was awfully kind of her to
ask me to stop on, but I can perfectly well go back
to-morrow."
"She's resigned to it. In fact she likes it. Besides, I thought you and she were going to marry,
so that you'd be my stepfather."
David laughed.
"So we were. Gosh, I'll keep you in order.... But I should like to stop if I shan't be a
nuisance. You see, Bags has been staying at the
Savoy all this time with some of his people, and
I haven't set eyes on him yet. Simply not been




138  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
time. But he's asked me to go to some show with
him to-morrow night: Phyllis in Philistia."
"Ho! Hot stuff!" said Frank. "Bags will be
Lotharian."
"I know. I shall yell. I'm to join him there,
and we're to have supper afterwards at somewhere awfully gay."
"Giddy night. I shall be roaring across France.
Damn!"
"Whaffor?"
"General survey of the situation. I say, the
fog's thicker than ever. What are we to do?"
"Nothing," said David. "Just sit."
"And after that?"
"Lunch. And then some more nothing. Then
dinner. Ripping day, I call it."
This thrilling programme was duly carried out.
Never for a moment did the fog lift, and there
was no telling when the day was over. They tried
an acrostic from a Sunday-paper and could only
solve it (and that not very successfully) by the
use of such words as no respectable acrosticeditor would have sullied his page with. They
ate large lunches and went to sleep; they woke up
again and had tea, and going up to Frank's bedroom turned all his clothes out of the drawers and
put on the bed what he wanted to be packed and
put back in the drawers all that he didn't. About
half-way through they got mixed as to which dump
was to be packed and which left behind, and David
put all his handkerchiefs into a drawer, and his
skates on to the bed. Before all this was rectified,
it was dinner-time, and then there was piquet, soon
abandoned, and talk and silence. Finally came a
retarded bedtime with the consciousness of a last
day wonderfully well spent, for, after all, they
had been together with nobody to interrupt and




SECOND YEAR


139


nothing to do, and friends cannot have better
pastime than that.
David walked back along Buckingham Palace
Road and across the Park, when, next morning, he
had seen the train slide out of the station, feeling
that the light of London had waned, and passing
the sentries outside the Palace without any desperate sense of envy. It would be fun to be a
sentry in one box if Frank was sentry in the next,
so that when they took their stiff little walks to
and fro they could cut each other or make faces
at each other, but it would be dreary work if the
next sentry was anybody else. It was a dreary
morning, too; the limes were weeping their last
sodden, sooty leaves to the ground, and the air
smelt grimy from yesterday's fog. There was
just as much to do as there had been throughout
this blissful week, but there was no one to do it
with. At least not the right person, and anybody
else was as bad as nobody. Probably the best
thing to do was to buck up.
David had lately joined the Bath Club as an
undergraduate member, and now he pulled himself together to make his first entry into it, which
somehow seemed to him a terribly formidable
undertaking.  His trials began on the very
threshold, for a polite attendant blocked his way
and asked him whom he wanted.
"I don't want anybody, thank you," said David,
feeling himself an object of suspicion.
"This is the Bath Club, sir," said the man.
"I know that," said David, rather testily and
suddenly beginning to stammer, as he did sometimes in embarrassing or exciting situations.
"That's wh-wh-why I c-came here."




140 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


Then the light began to break.
"Oh, I'm a new member, if that's what you're
driving at," he said. "Blaize. Quite all right.
Don't mention it."
He hung up his hat and coat and washed his
hands, not because they needed it, but because
the soap and the nail-brush partly belonged to
him, and he might as well use them. He went
through into the smoking-room, and again a
waiter, after a prolonged hover in his neighbourhood, asked him whom he was looking for, and
David explained the position with unruffled
patience. "But you might tell the others," he
added.... Then he settled himself in an armchair in the window and read a paper, because
that was the way people behaved in clubs. That
very soon palled, and with a view to using some
more of his property, he wrote a wholly unnecessary note to Bags, on black-edged paper. Then a
small weak gentleman like a moth put a lily-white
hand on his shoulder and said "Hullo, Horace!"
and retired with a wan smile when he saw it was
somebody else, and David added a postscript to
Bags saying, "They call me ' Horace' here."..
That seemed to exhaust the experiences to be
gained from the smoking-room, for nothing more
happened after that, and exploring further he
discovered the swimming-bath filled with pale
green water and surrounded with header boards
and athletic apparatus. A row of rings on ropes
stretched from one end of the bath to the other,
and these (being more of his property) seemed
well worth investigation. If only Frank had been
here what a joyous morning they could have
spent; but even in his absence, swimming and
messing about with rings and dumb-bells was
clearly more exhilarating than sitting in a chair




SECOND YEAR


141


and reading a paper, and after supplying the
stale news that he was Blaize, a new member, to
the bath attendant, he undressed, and pommelled
a ball and experimented with dumb-bells in order
to get hot before his bathe. Then there were the
rings over the bath: you swung forward, holding
on to one, so he gathered, and caught hold of the
next; got up momentum by swinging on the two,
and letting go of the first, advanced to the third.
This acted beautifully, and he was about halfway
down the bath when his hand slipped, and he fell
with a shriek and a loud splash into the pale-green
water.
This was all pleasant enough, and as he rose to
the surface again from his ducking he observed
near him a large round pink object, clearly a piece
of some further submerged body. David's eyes
were dim and choked with water, and at that first
glance it might have been the top of a bald head,
or a section of a round stomach or some other
circumferential part of a man. But before he
noticed more than this, an instantaneous conviction flashed into his head, like some telepathic
brain-wave, that it must belong to A. G.: nobody
else in the Bath Club or in the whole world could
be so orbicular. Then it heaved itself up, and he
saw he was right; it was A. G.'s head.
The imperial face came out of the water, and
he began to talk so immediately that it seemed
as if he must have been talking under water and
was only going on with what he was saying.
"Hullo, it's Blaizides," he said. "How awfully
jolly! I've been having a Turkish bath and dived
in for a swim. The athletic and amphibious
David-ha! ha!-David the son of Jesse, fair and
of a ruddy countenance. Can you really stand
there? I have to swim. Let us move a little




142 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


farther down to the shallow end, where I can
stand too. We're always meeting in Turkish
baths, and if not a Turkish bath, a glee-singing
party. You must come and have lunch with me
presently.",A. G. paddled into shallower water, and sat
down on some steps leading into the bath.
"One of my most intimate friends is lunching
with me," he said: "Prince Bumniowsky. We
will be a party of three. He lost all his possessions in the Russian revolution, except rather over
a million pounds, which he had invested in English
funds, and he says he's ruined. How awfully
jolly to be ruined like that! What are you doing
in this modern Babylon, David? Washing off the
grime and squalor of Cambridge in its lascivious
and sparkling flood? Cambridge stifles me: I can
only breathe in the atmosphere of London and
Paris and Rome. You must soak yourself in the
frivolity and corruption of London. We are all
like cheese-mites and only flourish in the midst of
decay. Or else lead a simple and artistic life (it
comes to much the same thing) like me. I went
to Phyllis of Philistia on Saturday, an exquisite
idyll out of Theocritus with all the modern improvements, and had supper in my flat just opposite Marlborough House, and then read the
Phadrus of Plato, translating it to dear old Boris
Bumniowsky till three in the morning. He is the
most exquisite flower of that barbaric and cultured Russian civilisation, and was engaged to an
equally exquisite Princess of the Imperial House,
and nobody knows where she is. I wrote my name
at Buckingham Palace, yesterday, and made a
blot. I should have been sent to Siberia if I had
done that in Russia. I am learning Russian. Let
us swim."




SECOND YEAR


143


A. G. launched himself into the water again,
and continued to pour out amazing pieces of information as he paddled along so slowly that
David had to swim in circles round him in order
to keep within earshot, and by degrees they progressed to the end of the bath, where A. G.'s
Italian servant was waiting for him with a towel
and an orange dressing-gown of floss silk with a
hood to it, and matches and cigarettes and a pair
of crimson leather slippers. He stood on the edge
of the bath, talking all the time while his servant
took off his bathing-dress and wiped him down,
and put on his dressing-gown for him, and thrust
his feet into his slippers and a cigarette into his
mouth and lit it for him. With his hood over
head he looked like some preposterous cross between an Emperor, a monk, and a Turk.
"Never do for yourself what other people can
do for you," he said, as he sat down on a small
camp-stool which his servant had brought for him.
"Thank you, Antonio. What should I do without
you? I suppose I should do all the things you do
for me. Just go and see if there are any letters
for me, old boy, and bring me a cocktail, no, two
cocktails-you must have a cocktail, David-and
pay for them with the money in my trouserpocket, and put my studs in my shirt, and get my
clothes ready, and bring me the menu from the
dining-room for me to order lunch. Go on swimming, David, till your cocktail comes-I like to see
people swimming. And you might take a running
header from that board; you would look delightful flying through the air. Why aren't there some
nymphs paddling about in the water? You would
make a delicious group with a nymph, and I would
sing 'Sabrina fair' to her."




144 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
He rubbed his head dry (Antonio had forgotten
to do this for him) and put down his hood.
"But the nymphs have the Turkish bath and
the swimming-bath to themselves three mornings
in the week," he said, "and I can never recollect
which those mornings are. They are either Mlonday, Wednesday, and Friday, or Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and it is useless to try to
remember which. Some day you should escape
observation, and steal in here on a nymphs' morning. There would be little shrieks of dismay and
the rustle of white feet, and you would find yourself like Actaeon surrounded by cohorts of the
most delightful but indignant Dianas. Horns
would sprout from your head, David. You would
look extraordinarily classical with two small
horns just above your temples at the edge of your
curly hair, and the Pekingese dogs of the infuriated Dianas would tear you limb from limb. Why
should we not have mixed bathing at the club?
It is the height of prurience and puritanism not
to allow it. I shall put down a notice in the book
about it. We would bathe and sing madrigals, and
I would bring a camera and photograph everybody. I imagine it must have leaked out among
women by now that men have arms and legs, so
why should they not face in the concrete what
they know in the abstract to be true? You must
come to my flat after lunch, David, and dear old
Boris Bumniowsky shall sing us some wild Russian melodies which always make me feel as if
somebody was being murdered in a snowstorm,
while Cossacks were telling fairy-stories round
the fire on the steppes as they supped on caviare
and samovars and astrackhan. How delightful to
be a Russian with a million pounds and a tenor
voice and all those generations of barbaric splen



SECOND YEAR


145


dour beating in your blood! Here are the cocktails with a preserved cherry impaled on a toothpick. Thank you, Antonio. Antonio, will you
ring up his Highness Prince Bumniowsky-no, I
will do it myself and practise talking Russian."
David, like the man who saw a giraffe for the
first time, found it difficult to believe in Prince
Bumniowsky, so highly improbable did he appear,
He had a round white face like a plate, with crimson lips and yellow eyes like an Angora cat, and
ate more than you could imagine was possible.
Though A. G.'s flat was a bare quarter of a mile
away, they all got into a prodigious motor-car
after lunch, and were immersed in sable rugs
while they made the transit at the rate of about
sixty miles an hour. He was absolutely unable
to understand A. G.'s Russian conversation, and
politely explained this (in excellent English) by
telling him that he had not talked Russian for a
long time and had forgotten it. However beautifully he may have been able to sing, he did not
attempt to do so, but went fast asleep in an armchair, waking up at intervals to light another
cigarette from the one that had begun to burn his
crimson lips. So A. G. sang instead, which did
not appear to disturb him in the least. When he
woke up for another cigarette he said "Bis" and
went to sleep again. David left them about four
o'clock, feeling feverish.
He dined at Mrs. Maddox's house, where Bags
had sent his ticket in case he himself might be
late, and went to that very up-to-date theatre
"Red Ridinghood," where Phyllis was in Philistia. He arrived there a good deal too early, and
since it was a dull employment to sit among empty
stalls with only the curtain to look at, he made his




146  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
way to the bar, which was far from dull. There
were a large number of young ladies there,
dressed in the most dazzling fashion with low
dresses and large hats, and fraternizing in the
friendliest way with comparative if not complete
strangers. David had hardly lit a cigarette when
one of them, who looked like a full-blown peony
and whose person would have been described in an
inquest as "the body of a well-nourished female,"
came and sat extremely close to him, breathed
heavily through her nose, and said "Good evening, dearie."
"Lord, it's a cocoon," thought David to himself. "I wish Bags would come."
"Good evening," he said politely.
"Feelin' a bit lonely, dearie?" she asked.
"So'm I."
This was priceless, but David felt he must be
firm.
"No thank you-I'm not a bit lonely," he said.
"Well, that's nice," said this communicative
lady; "and I'm not neither, now I've got you to
talk to. Such a headache as I've got this evening.
I know what would do it good."
"That's all right then," said David.
"Well, you are a funny boy!" said she. "A
glass of port would take it away at once. Not a
large one, mind. Been to see this show before?
There's a waiter."
David gave orders for a glass of port. It was
rather a large one to the ordinary man, being a
brimming claret-glass.
"It's not what I call a narse show," she said,
"and if the girls weren't to wear more than half
a dozen stitches between the lot of them, they
ought to have chosen them with a bit of plumpness
about them. Who wants to see twenty pairs of




SECOND YEAR


147


drumsticks dancing? But then I know what you
men are."
The headache seemed to get better as the port
waned in the glass.
"My, you're not drinking with me," she said
as she turned it upside-down to get the last possible drop. "You must have a glass of port.
Pals should drink together. I call that real unfriendly, I do. Here, waiter, get this gentleman
friend of mine a glass of port, and look slippy."
He looked so slippy that he was gone before
David could tell him that it wasn't wanted, and
returned with a brimming glass. It appeared that
the unfriendliness of his refusal to drink it could
be easily mitigated by her doing so.
"Pity to wiste it," she said. "You haven't got
a cigarette, have you? I don't usually smoke in
public; bad form, I call it, but just for once to
please you, dearie."
Quite suddenly David, who, according to his
admirable habit, was seeing and enjoying the
comedy of this preposterous lady, felt frankly
sick. The comic side was that he was supposed
to be succumbing to the irresistible allurements
of this peony. This great full-blown siren, with
her glasses of port, and her powdered face, her
flowery hat, her fat arms, her heaving bosom, and
her hopefulness that they were getting on nicely,
was a huge joke, funnier than anything that he
had imagined about cocoons. Presently, if he
played up at all, she would tell him that she
shared a nice flat with a lady friend, and they
both often brought a pal home in the evening for
a bit of a chat. He bubbled with laughter as he
thought of it, but even as his ribs shook, he felt
nauseated.... And what nauseated him most
was the knowledge that something in himself,




148 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


even while he laughed, responded not to her indeed but to what she stood for. If it had been not
she, but that slim girl over there with the narrow
eyes and the tired mouth who had sat down beside
him, he would have felt a need that clamoured
dangerously. He would have seen nothing comic
in it, nothing grotesque and incredible....
Just as she lit her cigarette at his, Bags appeared in the doorway, evidently looking for him.
He jumped up.
"There's a friend of mine," he said.
"Right-oh, dearie. See you again afterwards
perhaps," and she finished her port and began
looking out for somebody else.
David hurried across to Bags, and chucked out
of his mind everything but the comedy.
"Bags, take me away," he said. "I've been
drinking port with an enormous red cocoon, at
least she drank it all. She was perfectly killing.
I say, this is awful fun. I haven't seen you for
ages. Let's go in: the show's started."
Their stalls were right up at the front of the
house, and they had a perfect sight of all the pairs
of drumsticks which had excited the peony's contempt. The piece had no particular plot, and no
relation to its title, except that there was a
young lady called Phyllis who lived in a restaurant with a beautiful garden at the back full of
Chinese lanterns and drumsticks. There lived
there also a young naval officer with a comic
admiral who kissed all the waitresses and an
elderly comic waiter by mistake, and sat down
first at one table and then at another and called
for empty bottles of champagne which he distributed with impartial liberality. His wife,
Lady Sophonisba Vereker, had heard apparently
of these goings on, and took him away from time




SECOND YEAR


149


to time, but he always came back, and instructed
the young naval officer to make love to her,
so as to give her something nice to think
about.... So in the second act, which took place
on the deck of the admiral's battleship at Portsmouth, Phyllis, for no particular reason, dressed
up as the young naval officer, and the admiral's
wife thought it was the other one, and ran about
after him. There was a ball on the battleship,
and half of the drumsticks appeared as midshipmen, and danced with the other half who were
the guests. The comic admiral then got drunk
and tried to sing "Rule Britannia," but sang
"Rule Philistia" instead, with a chorus of guests
and midshipmen. Meantime Phyllis had changed
her naval uniform for a ravishing costume made
of pearls and diamonds, and got engaged to the
young naval officer....
Bags had early singled out the most voluptuous
midshipman, and kept smiling in her direction.
"Dam' fine girl," he said, "I should chuck
Cambridge and enter the navy if I thought I could
hit off that lot of middies."
"Rather!" said David cordially. "But what's
it all about?"
"I don't know. You never know what a revue
is about. It's just a revue; not about anything.
I vote we go round to the stage-door afterwards.
I'm sure she smiled at me then. I wonder if she'd
come round to supper. In Paris  "
This might or might not have been swank on
Bags's part, but David thought that the middy's
presence at supper would be extremely embarrassing. He had not been aware that she had
smiled at Bags at all, for she seemed intent on
sending volleys of nods and smiles and grins to
someone in a box at the side. Bags was ex



150 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
tremely short-sighted, and had probably seen
one of them still lingering on her face, and
thought it was meant for him.
"Oh, no, don't," he said.  "Besides, she's
smiling like anything at some chap in that box
there."
A little observation proved that this was certainly the case, and Bags, abandoning all thought
of the stage-door, became critical.
"I don't think much of them," he said.
"Rather a weedy lot; they'd be hooted off the
stage in Paris. That's the end. Let's nip away
before the crowd comes out. We're going to have
supper at the El Dorado just round the corner.
There are sure to be some smart bits there."
They had only to cross the street, and entered
through the glass doors of the restaurant. The
place was crowded and brilliantly lit, a band was
playing in a gallery at the end, and up and down
the narrow gangways between the tables, couples
were dancing, leaving their supper while their
plates were being changed, and putting down
their cigarettes when they returned for the next
course. At some of the tables were seated large
parties, at others there would be a couple only,
and here and there a man or a woman supped solitarily. Waiters dashed about with dishes and icepails holding champagne bottles, and the startling
kaleidoscope of colours was dizzily reflected in
the mirrors which lined the walls between pilasters of yellow scagliola. The air was thick and
hot with the smell of flowers and scent and food,
and charged with some ferment of gaiety.
Wherever you looked you saw white shoulders
and eager faces thrown into relief against the
black coats of the men; the place tingled with
the insouciant spell of the festive hour.




SECOND YEAR


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Of all that in London had seemed so new and
entrancing to David, this was the most seductive.
His face glowed with the rippling fire of it.
"Oh, I say, top-hole," he said to Bags. "I've
never been to a place like this before. Frank and
I used to go home after the theatre and eat sandwiches."
Bags felt wonderfully superior. He was always a little jealous of David's devotion to
Frank, and it was pleasant to exhibit a touch of
airy contempt.
"No, I don't suppose it's much in Frank's
line," he said. "Ah! there's my waiter; I told
him to keep a table for me in case I looked in.
Bon soir, Charles."
Bags conducted a solemn conversation in
French, and David was impressed rather than
amused. There was good reason for using that
language to a Frenchman, and really it was jolly
clever of Bags to be able to reel it off like that,
without apparently devoting his mind to the construction of sentences, and to be able to understand what was said without concentration.
Soup, quails, and an ice were decided on, and
Bags was very firm about the precise length of
the time that the champagne should be allowed
to nestle in the ice-pail. That being fluently
concluded, he had another dab at Frank.
"He's gone off to-day, hasn't he," he said, "on
his mouldy archmological stunt? I daresay he'll
enjoy it: I only know I shouldn't. Of course he's
an awfully decent chap."
David flared for a moment over this, and then
laughed.
"Jolly condescending of you," he said. "I'll
tell him you said so."




152 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"Well, don't be stuffy. I only said he was
awfully decent. But he doesn't think about anything except sap and games, and makes you do
the same. Bit narrow. Oh, let's have some coffee afterwards and a liqueur. They've got a
topping old brandy here, st...., garon."...
David completely abandoned himself to the
spell of the place and the hour. It was no use
arguing with Bags about Frank, for he could not
argue about Frank with anybody since there was
nothing to be said about him except that he was
Frank. Besides, argumentativeness was not a
graceful attitude for a guest who was being
treated to this gorgeous hospitality. A guest's
duty was to enjoy, and he had every inclination to
do so. He wasn't exactly hungry, but this exciting atmosphere and the delicious food made it
natural to eat, and Bags was assiduous in filling
his glass the moment there was room for any
addition to its contents. Pretty girls with their
partners, moving rhythmically to the band, swept
by them; now and then the floating lace of a sleeve
or a flying riband brushed David's head, and he
looked up with a smile and apologies for being in
the way. He got several delightful smiles back
in return, too, which, after all, was not the least
to be wondered at. Once a girl said to her partner, "Who's that awfully handsome boy?" in a
voice that he could not help hearing.
"You gave him the glad eye," said the man.
She laughed, and they twirled away. David,
pink with a pleasant confusion, turned to Bags.
"And you've been here three nights running,
did you say?" he asked.
" Three or four."
"You are a gay dog," said David, "and it's




SECOND YEAR


153


awfully good of you to ask me. Oh, I say, the
salad's made of grapes and apples, I believe. Ripping! I'm going back to Cambridge on Wednesday. I thought of going to-day, but I'm glad I
didn't. There'd have been hardly anyone up, and
I should have been yawning in my rooms all evening. Look here, you're giving me much more
than my share of the champagne-I must have
drunk nearly a bottle."
"Well, there's lots more," said Bags; "they
don't run short of fizz here. Finish that up, and
we'll have some more. Here, gargon."
"No, I swear I don't want any more," said
David. "I've had lots. I say, did you get a good
look at that fat old hag who came and sat next
me in the bar at the theatre? It was really awfully funny."
David marvelously reproduced her cockney intonation, thought no more about champagne, and
had two goes of ice. And then suddenly, as
he inhaled the first whiff of a fresh cigarette,
an awful qualm overtook him. He became aware
that it was difficult to fix his eyes on any given
spot. If he looked, for instance, at the edge of
the mirror opposite, which surely should have
been firm and stationary, it gave a little jerk and
sidled away a foot or two. If he looked at Bags,
Bags did exactly the same thing. This curious
effect came as a complete surprise to him; he had
just been drinking champagne without another
thought than that it was delightfully oold and
bubbly, and harmonised excellently with his surroundings.
The discovery pulled him up with a jerk. It
was annoying, for he had only been enjoying
himself without a thought that alcohol, steadily




154   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
imbibed, produces precisely the same effect as
intoxication.
"I say, Bags," he said solemnly, "if I drink
any more I shall be drunk. What beastly rot!"
"Nonsense; you're miles off being drunk,"
said Bags. "You're talking all right."
"But I'm not seeing all right," said David
carefully. "Things slip about, and you look
misty.'"
Bags was conscious of having drunk enough
himself, but that had happened several times to
him lately. He felt perfectly clear-headed, but
extraordinarily hospitable and very clever.
"Every man in the world has been drunk
once," he said. "If a man tells you he hasn't, it
means that he often gets drunk. And if he says
he's a teetotaller, it means he's drunk now.
That's rather cynical and well put. Take your
hand away from your glass, and let me fill it."
"I'd rather not," said David.   "Absolute
waste of jolly good fizz."
"I was rather screwed last night," said Bags,
"and I felt frightfully fit this morning. That
shows I couldn't have been screwed. It must
have been a hall-hallucination. There! Well if
you won't    "
He filled up his own glass, drank it, and quite
suddenly became rather mournful.
"I meant you to have such a jolly evening,"
he said, "and I planned it all carefully, but I'm
afraid you're not enjoying it much. I expect you
miss Frank. Yon don't really care about anybody but him. I've always been devoted to you,
David, but you never really liked me. You always laugh at me. Luckily, there are one or two
girls in the world who don't think so badly of
me."




SECOND YEAR


155


David gave a sort of hiccuping giggle.
"Oh, don't make me laugh," he said. "If I
began to laugh now I should never stop. I'm in
a precarious state, Bags."
"I don't know that there's anything particularly comic in what I've been saying," said Bags.
"But there is-take my word for it. And if
you get any worse you'll burst into tears, and I
shall howl with laughter. That would never do;
we should be making awful asses of ourselves.
As for getting drunk once-I say, you put all that
awfully smartly-I'm going to keep that for another occasion. Do be sensible, Bags! Let's go
away. Much better."
Bags looked up at that jolly, handsome face,
which he knew he loved so much better than any
cocoon's. He still felt sad and inclined to be
reproachful, but he was aware that this was due
not to anything David had done, but to what he
had drunk.
"But what about the coffee and the liqueur?"
he asked. "I'm afraid I haven't given you a
supper you like."
"All Al," said David. "Never had such a
good supper. But counter-order the coffee and
liqueurs. I know I should be sick if I tried to
drink old brandy. Mustn't be sick in the El
Dorado. They'd hate it. And I've had an awfully jolly evening, and it's been ripping seeing
you again. I don't want to spoil it."
Bags rose.
"Right-oh," he said. "Good old chap, David!
Legs all right?"
"Lovely!" said David, taking a tentative step
or two. "Just a little care, you know. No harm
in being careful."...




156 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


IX
THE Lent term was dribbling along in its own
uneventful fashion. David's performances in the
Freshman's sports last year had not encouraged
him to pursue distinction on the track. It was no
use, from a competitive point of view, being able
to run extremely fast when frightened, because
plenty of other people could do that without being frightened, and took their talent seriously,
and trained and went to bed early and didn't
smoke. He had once intended to take up running,
and learn how to use his pace at will, but the idea
had become no more than one of the many enthusiasms which glittered on the surface of his
mind like sparkles of sunlight on water. To see
anybody performing almost any feat with ease
and neatness always made David instantly want
to do it too, and he would throw himself with
ardour into the new accomplishment for about
two minutes and a quarter. It was not that he
was in the least harebrained, for no one could
more steadily apply himself, when his mind was
set as his had been on tennis. That was a serious
pursuit; so too, disastrously, was cricket, and
friendship, and the fascinating things that could
be done with words (which is literature). Outside that inner orbit revolved similar brightnesses, all those things in fact which other people
did delightfully and which he must instantly try
to do too. To play the piano was one of these,
and his neighbours wished it hadn't been. The
one pursuit constantly practised at Cambridge
which never had the slightest allurement for him
was rowing.
Tommers this year had dropped Rugby football altogether in despair of ever attaining excel



SECOND YEAR


157


lence himself, or of the college team doing so. He
was very big, and much stronger than most horses,
but awkward and without dexterity, and had violently taken up this lugubrious form of aquatic
exercise. He was rowing in the King's Lent
boat, and had induced David this afternoon, when
they were rowing a full course, to come down to
the river and see if that inspiriting spectacle did
not kindle in him the lust of imitation. David had
been bored stiff, to say nothing of the sheets of
rain that swept the towing-path where he cowered
to see Tommers go by in his boat, and had trotted
home without waiting for him. An hour afterwards he was arguing about it with him over a
comfortable tea.
"Can't see it," he said. "Torrents of rain: I
hate rain-  "
"The rain's got nothing to do with it," said
Tommers. "It just happened to be raining. I
might just as well say that cricket's a rotten
game, because there was a thunderstorm."
"But the rain's got lots to do with it," said
David. "It nearly swamped you, you told me, to
begin with. But when it rains at cricket, we go
into the pavilion."
"If that's all you've got to say against rowing —" began Tommers.
"But it isn't. I haven't begun yet. I was just
sketching the thing out, starting with the background, which was rain, to give you the atmosphere. Rain seemed to come into the foreground
too. But don't argue till I've given you something to argue about. You can't dispute the local
colour, which was rain. Have a muffin."
"Muffin!" said Tommers with infinite contempt. "I thought I told you I was in training.
You might as well offer me a pound of suet."




158 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


David took a large buttery bite, and sucked his
fingers one after the other.
"Well, there's a pretty good argument against
rowing out of your own mouth," he said. "I say,
that's rather neat. The muffin: out of your own
mouth, not in your own mouth. See? No, you
don't, but never mind that. Listen! You can't
eat muffins because you're in training. What's
the good of a game that prevents your enjoying
the pleasures of life?"
"Well, you dropped smoking Perpetua when
you were trying to play cricket last summer,"
said Tommers brutally. "Lot of good it did
you."
"I hoped you'd say that. Not smoking Perpetua was adding to the pleasure of life, or rather
deducting from its pains," said David ingeniously. "That's one to me; fifteen love. Let's
get on. What's rowing about? You sit in a frail,
tremulous bark   "
"Well, you used to go in a canoe," said Tommers. "That was tremulous enough when you
were in it."
"That may be. But it was about something.
I wanted to get to Byron's pool and bathe and
picnic. Unless I'd gone in a canoe, I should have
had to walk carrying a tea-kettle and a spiritlamp and a book and a towel and milk and sugar
and buns. I wish you wouldn't interrupt in the
middle of a sentence. I'm going to write an article about rowing to the Cambridge Review, and
I thought out the sentence about 'frail, tremulous
bark' as I was coming up from that mouldy
river. Now I've forgotten it."
"Bad luck on the Cambridge Review. Not that
they'd have put it in."
"I don't see why not. They put in the Uni



SECOND YEAR


159


versity sermon every week, and that's mournful
reading. By the way, my father's preaching it
next Sunday, and I shall have to go."
"And lead the applause and laughter. What
Bags would call clack."
David scratched his head.
"Lemme think," he said. "Frail tremulous
bark... No, I can't remember it: what a bore
you are! Anyhow, you step into it, taking great
care where you put your hoof, because otherwise
you would crash through. And then you have to
sit down very carefully, because this ripping game
has given you boils, and they push you out into
that dirty ditch entirely full of the drains of
Cambridge, holding on to a handle. Then you
paddle down to the start, and sit and shiver with
cold and cold feet till somebody fires a pistol, and
you shove your oar into the water, give a great
hoick, and pull it out again. Eight silly asses
sitting in a row, and looking at each other's backs
-no, let's be accurate: stroke looks at Bilton's
face, and I'd sooner look at anybody's back than
Bilton's face; it's like a face in a spoon-eight
silly asses, I was saying, shove their oars into
the water, and pull them out again as fast as ever
they can, twenty-three million times. They can't
see where they're going, and it wouldn't be much
of a prospect if they did; they just look at the
next man's back, and pull that handle like hell. I
hate going backwards anyhow. I can't bear it
even in a comfortable corner-seat in a train.
And when it's all over, and you've been bumped
by somebody else-oh yes, I forgot that: you can
see the next boat gaining on you all the time to
keep your spirits up-when you've been bumped,
you all fall sideways and collapse and pant and
roll your eyes. And when you're better and have




160 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


been beaten, you paddle back to exactly the same
place as you've started from. "
David hurriedly ate another muffin, holding up
his hand the while to show Tommers he hadn't
finished. The last piece stuck in his throat, and he
hastily swallowed some tea to wash it downwards.
"And where's the sport of it?" he asked. "It
can't be fun doing it. It's just a question of
which set of asses can pull a handle quickest for
a quarter of an hour without dying."
"Rot!" shouted Tommers. "It isn't a question of 'quickest.' There are all the things that
make up the stroke, smoothness and rhythm and
getting your weight into it, and leg-drive
and -"
David stopped his ears as he did at glee-singing, to shut out this rude, angry voice, and continued:
"Mere races aren't games at all," he said.
"I've thought it all out. What's the fun of seeing who can get to a place first, unless there's
some object in getting there? There is when
you've got to get to your crease before the ball,
or else you'll be run out. Or getting your racquet
in the way before the ball gets into the dedans."
He saw that Tommers had finished speaking
and unblocked his ears again.
"There's some point in that sort of getting
there first," he said. "But at rowing, when
you've paddled down to Ditton or Ely or wherever it is, and nearly burst yourselves with getting back, you haven't done anything but arrive
at the place you started from."
"Yes, but the point is to get there before the
other fellows," said Tommers. "You might as
well say that cricket is no fun because, when the
bowler has delivered a ball which gets hit for




SECOND YEAR


161


four, it only comes back eventually to his hand
from which it started."
That was rather ingenious, an unexpected
agility of mind on the part of Tommers. He
must be led away by quibbles, thought David.
"Not at all," he said. "If it's the last ball of
the over, it doesn't go back to his hand, but to
the other bowler's hand."
Tommers stuck to it.
"That's so about the last ball of the over," he
said. "But then all the other balls of the over
are piffle- "
"Depends who bowls them," said David.
Tommers held his mouth open to go on exactly
where he left off:.. "and it's only when the ball is returned
to somebody else's hand that there's any sport in
it," he said. "That's what your argument comes
to."
David sighed. Of course Tommers had scored,
but that couldn't be acknowledged.
"I don't know what we're talking about," he
said.
"I haven't the slightest idea," said Tommers.
"Very well, we'll scrap that," said David
hurriedly, "and get back to what I was saying
before, when you interrupted me. It's a mean
pursuit to go on pulling at an oar, doing exactly
the same thing over and over again. You might
as well stand with a basket of balls at the net in
a tennis-court, and hit them at the other fellow,
and call it a game."'
"Sounds a pretty good one," said Tommers
appreciatively. "I'll hit a basket of balls at you
as quick as I can, and as hard as I can-that's
what you do in rowing-any day, and I promise
to enjoy it awfully."




162 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"Then I hit them back at you," began David.
"No, you don't, because you'll be dead long
before I've finished. And rowing's frightfully
good exercise. I've gained two inches round the
chest this term."
"This term!" said David scornfully. "Why
I've gained two inches round the stomach this
afternoon by eating muffins. But I don't swank
about that. As for exercise, who cares for exercise? It would be good exercise to run up and
down these stairs a hundred times, but awful poor
fun. "
Tommers' eyes fell on David's piano.
"Well, it's awful poor fun for everybody else
when you do your exercises on that foul teakettle," he said.
David strolled across to the foul tea-kettle,
played an octave of a scale very laboriously, and
pounced on the top and bottom notes of the piano.
"That comes in Chopin," he said. "And besides, I want to be able to play. I don't think
there's anything I want to do so much just now.
Fancy being able to rattle off the Polonaise in P
or anything you pleased, just to amuse yourself.
I've known my notes ever since I was a kid-  "
"We all know them now," said Tommers.
"... so it isn't as if I was beginning fresh.
Solid foundations. Have a firm knowledge of
your notes and then you'll get on. Hymn-tunes
even: you've no idea how different a perfectly
ordinary hymn-tune sounds if you play it yourself. 'The Church's one Foundation,' for instance. Perfectly melting! Do listen! So rich!"
David with a corrugated brow, and the tip of
his tongue sticking out of the corner of his
mouth, forced his laborious way through this
melody.




SECOND YEAR


163


"It may be rich," said Tommers, "and it certainly sounds quite different."
"I shall get it in time," said David hopefully,
beginning again.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't try to get it this
time," said Tommers. "We've been having it all
morning."
"I know; and I shouldn't wonder if you had it
most of the evening."
"But you're getting an awful bore  " began
Tommers.
"I don't mind that a bit," said David. "I've
got absolutely used to it. Aren't they rich oily
chords-blast, that's B natural-if you play them
slowly? I'm getting on with that, don't you
think?"
It was impossible to be angry with David,
thought Tommers; you had to laugh. But a
neighbour apparently could manage it, for there
came a tapping on David's wall, and an exasperated though muffled shout of "Shut up, Blazes,
you ass!" from next door....
David instantly opened the top of the piano,
and put his foot firmly on what is known as the
"loud" pedal.
"I hate rudeness," he said: "it never pays,"
and he played slowly and emphatically through
the tune again, and added a fortissimo "Amen."
"I'm not sure I don't like the Polonaise in
P Minor better than that," said Tommers.
"How nice of you!" said David. "I'll play
them both, shall I, and then you can judge."
"No, I didn't mean you to do that," said Tommers. "I'm sure I like the Polonaise best- "
"Then you don't appreciate 'the Church's one.'
I'll just —"
"No, I like 'The Church's one' best," said




164 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
Tommers. "Or I like the Polonaise in P best.
Have it your own way. Only stop."
David began playing a quantity of notes with
each hand in opposite directions, in the manner
of an arpeggio.
"The Polonaise in P Minor and a great many
sharps and flats," he said. "It's by Me. I'm
not sure that it isn't a rhapsody. You play anything as quickly as you can with both hands.
Like that. You have to lift your hands very high,
with a good deal of action  "
Just as he lifted his hands very high, Tommers
came swiftly up behind, closed the lid of the piano
and sat on it. David continued to play on the
lid. Then Tommers sat on one of his hands, and
David flipped his nose with the other, and there
might have been a rag, but Bags came in. He
grasped the situation, and sat on David's other
hand. So there they were, the baffled composer
pinioned, with two firm people sitting on his hands
on the lid of the closed piano.
"Of course I'm helpless if you do that," he
said in an injured voice.
"Yes, that's the idea," said Tommers. "Bright
of you."
"All right. I won't play any more. Pax to
the Polonaise in P. Hullo, Bags! Been riding?
Been kicked off? Now, what's the point of riding? You climb up on a horse and it kicks you
off. And then you climb up again, and if you're
lucky it doesn't kick you off. So you get back to
Cambridge, and pat its bottom, and feel its fetlock or its forelock, and say to your groom, 'Nice
quarters, but a shade sickle-hocked. Give it a
rub down and a warm spavin, and bring it round
about the same time to-morrow for me to be
kicked off again.' I shall write a story about a




SECOND YEAR


165


mare that could throw a splint further than anybody else."
"What's he talking about?" asked Bags.
"He doesn't quite know," said David. "But
he's been down to the river to see a torpid --
Lord, I nearly forgot, I've found a glorious story
by Ouida, which describes a boat-race. King's
were rowing Third Trinity, and the Third Trinity
stroke was the hero. And then she says, 'They
all rowed fast in the Third Trinity boat that afternoon, but nobody rowed as fast as stroke.' "
Tommers, who had become serious again the
moment rowing was mentioned, gave a contemptuous snort.
"Drivel!" he said. "That's quite impossible.
Stroke sets the time for the rest of the crew.
Whether it's a fast stroke or a slow one, they all
row the same pace."
David gave the ghost of a wink to Bags. Like
the Tooties and Rugby football, Tommers could
never admit anything that bordered on humour
to approach the sacred subject of boats.
"I don't see why they shouldn't row at different paces," said David gravely. "It stands to
reason that a boat will go its fastest, when everyone in it is rowing as fast as he can. I don't
pretend to know much about rowing myself, but
Ouida's probably right about it. You seem to
think that nobody knows anything about rowing
but you. What's wrong with it?"
Tommers made a scornful noise.
"It's utterly impossible," he said. "If they
all row their own pace the oars would get all
muddled up together. Look here, suppose you're
sitting behind me, close behind, and Bags behind
you ---



166 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


David gave a crack of laughter, and the light
began to dawn on Tommers....
David wanted his cigarettes, so instead of walking round the end of the sofa he jumped over the
back. Then he tried to jump back again, tripped
on the edge of it, and fell on to the seat.
"What's that for?" asked Bags.
"Nothing. Just energy. What a pity it is you
can't save energy, store it in a dynamo, you know,
for future use. Probably the energy I expended
over that would have run the electric light in my
room for five minutes. As it is, I've only barked
my shin, and Nature will have to expend some
more energy in repairing it. At least I hope she
will. Rather a good subject for the Chitchat."
"You're like Crowfoot," said Tommers. "Go
on."
"Well, there it is. Probably you and Bags and
I have got enough energy to run the whole University or support large families. But nothing
happens: we don't employ it, and it just dribbles
away. There's Bags, who's going into Parliament. By the time he gets into the Cabinet, he'll
be a weary old battered old dog, without any energy left in his derelict carcase. Whereas if he
had the energy he's got now he would gallop
along with the whole caboodle on his shoulders,
and disrupt the British Empire without winking.
There's Tommers, who by that time may know
how to row and win every Diamond scull in existence, and he '11 be too gross to lift himself out of
his arm-chair except to go to dinner -"
"It's all been said before and much more
shortly," said Bags. "All it comes to is 'Si
jeunesse savait' —   "
"Savvy be blowed," said David. "What I'm




SECOND YEAR


167


telling you is that when we're young we're pifflers, and when we're old we're poops. I want to
write books; I could sit up day and night writing
books, but I don't know how yet. And by the
time I've learned my trade, I shall only want to
toddle down to the club and write a letter in a
boiling rage to the papers about the state of the
London streets. And when I've done that I shall
sit in the window with a shiny bald head and
snooze. It's a rotten arrangement, and as for
my piano-playing —
Tommers got quietly up with an abstracted air
and sat on the lid again.
"No, I wasn't going to play," said David.
"But by the time I can play like Paderewski, I
shall have knotted rheumatic fingers  "
"Before," said Tommers.
"Right you are: before. I felt a bit stiff this
morning. Then there's Crowfoot. Long before
he's really perfected his scheme of shutting the
window at the far end of the room before he gets
out of bed, he'll be past any need for keeping off
the draught when he's dressing. Yet somehow
he has kept going, though he must be quite old:
forty at least. I think it must be the pursuit of
the impossible which has kept him frisky. He's
always planning to do what can't possibly be
done. 'The Pursuit of the Impossible.' That's
rather a good title."
"I should call it 'The Rape of the Highly Improbable,' " said Bags.
David laughed.
"Oh, ripping: well done, Bags," he said.
"That'll whip up the members of the Chitchat.
They'll think it's something about you and the
sweet young thing at the tobacconist's. Lord, it
was funny; the other day, Tommers, I went in




168 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


there, and there was Bags sitting on the counter
with the fingers of the sweet young thing coyly
nestling-yes, 'coyly nestling' is the word-in his
strong manly hand. That's where Bags's energy
goes. Oh my! Such lovely little fingers, likelike coral, and an ear like a pink shell peeping
out from the tendrils of her hair, and a mouth like
a Cupid's bow, and little feet-let's see what are
they like?-Oh yes, like mice that pop in and out
from her skirt. Ickle Tootsicums! And eyes like
stars, and a face like a small ham."
"Rather a flapper for the Honourable Crabtree," said Tommers. "He usually likes something mature and pillowy."
"Full-blown," said David.
"After all," said Bags, "I've seen David giving port and cigarettes to the full-blownest old
hag in Piccadilly."
"So you did," said David. "We're all in the
same boat, and Tomlin shall row us. By Jove,
how she creaked when she breathed!"
"Did you snatch a chaste salute, David?" asked
Tommers.
"No. I'd as soon have kissed the hind-parts of
an elephant."
Tommers left the lid of the piano.
"I say, let's have Pax with Paderewski till
Hall," he said. "I've got a Greek prose I must
do, and 'The Church's one' makes it absolutely
impossible to think.  I vote we play bridge
directly after Hall. You, Bags, I-"
"Can't," said Bags.
"The tobacconist's daughter of Cambridge
town," said Tommers.
"Raise two others, Tommers," said David.
"Right," and he went thumping downstairs.




SECOND YEAR


169


Bags wandered aimlessly about the room.
There was evidently something simmering in his
mind, and David waited for it to boil over.
Eventually Bags came to anchor on the sofa.
"I can't understand you, David," he said.
"You're simply dripping with energy, and yet you
never dream of going after a girl. It seems to me
absolutely unnatural. You don't even want to."
"Hullo, it's the gay Lothario," said David encouragingly.
"Not a bit. It's just an ordinary usual person. Your not wanting to is what beats me."
David looked up. It was evident that Bags
was not Lotharian at all, but perfectly serious,
for he wore the worried expression that always
made him look like an anxious nanny-goat.
"And you're quite sure I never want to, are
you?" he said.
"Well, it's pretty obvious. Isn't it?"
David had opened a book, now he shut it with
a bang. It was quite a good plan, he thought, to
rag and chaff Bags about his amorous temperament, because he made it ridiculous; but, given
the opportunity, it was an equally good plan to be
serious.
"Obvious?" he said. "I'm jolly glad it appears to be obvious, because that's what it's
meant to appear. But it isn't. I want frightfully
sometimes."
"Rot!"
"It's nothing of the sort," said David. "You
think that because I don't go messing about with
girls I don't want to. But I do, if you care to
know.'
"But you never talk about them, and you're
always ragging me about them," said Bags.
"And you always say they're stinkers."




170 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"I know I do. But what's the good of talking
about a thing you don't mean to be mixed up in?
And what's the good of thinking about a thing if
you don't intend to do it? It only makes you
worse. "
"But, confound it all, you're twenty," said
Bags.
"I know I am, and I've never kissed a girl yet,
let alone the other thing. And as I don't mean to
at present, it would be dam' silly always to be
thinking and talking about it. Like saying you
don't mean to drink, and putting a bottle of
whisky on the table. But as we are talking about
it -"
David had really not known how strongly or
how clearly he felt on this subject till he began to
discuss it seriously. It was a topic that he always
consistently banished from his mind, except when
he was ragging Bags on the subject.
"To begin with, look at the fellows who go
messing about with women," he said. "They're
an awful measly lot. You don't really belong to
them, so I'm not being particularly personal.
And what makes me laugh is that they think
they're being manly. Absolute error! It isn't
manly to cuddle a girl, or soak your mind in beastliness and probably your body as well. It's far
more manly not to. Oh, Bags, you do rather belong to that class sometimes, and then you make
me sick, so I laugh at you instead. But that's
what I think about it if you want to know. "
Bags was profoundly amazed at these revelations.
"Good Lord, I thought you never looked at a
girl, let alone wanting one. When did it begin
with you?"
"I can tell you that to a day. It was when we




SECOND YEAR


171


went to that play, and I gave port to the large
peony."
David laughed.
"No, I didn't want the peony," he said. "But
there was a girl there, o-oh... don't let's think
about it. But there it is. The f-fact is" (he began to stammer) "that when the time comes that
I see a girl I really want, and ask her to m-marry
me, I mean to go to her clean. It's just a fad of
mine-call it that, or call it pi' and p-priggish.
You may call it anything you please."
"But-   " began Bags.
"I know what you're going to say," cried
David, cracking his fingers with a sudden inspiration. "You're going to say it's good for the
health or some piffle of that sort. It isn't anything of the kind. Of course if you let your
imagination run riot with you, and think about
nothing else and then don't do it, you'll get
jumpy and nervy and that will be bad for your
health. But that is a very different thing. So I
don't choose to think about it. I think about
every other blessed thing under the sun. Of
course if I went mooning about and looking at
cocoons, and squeezing their hands and pinching
their fat places, and fiddling with them, I should
be done. Done in the eye. Couldn't stand it."
David leapt from his seat with a sort of whinny,
and pawed the ground with his foot.
"That's what you're doing all day," he said,
"and that's what I won't do. If I began, I don't
believe I should ever stop. So, as I don't mean
to begin, I keep my mind off it. But as for its
being bad for the health to lead a clean life, I
never heard such rot. And you were going to
say that, Bags, weren't you?"
"Yes, I was," said Bags.




172  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Jolly good shot of mine. But don't you believe it. Look at me, my amorous Bags, and tell
me whether I really look debilitated and nervy.
Do I want a rest-cure or a woman or a tonic?
Course I don't. If you're right about it, and if
you are such hot stuff as you want us all to think,
you must be in the most marvellous state of health
owing to your amours-French word-so let's go
to an impartial doctor and ask him which of us is
the fittest."
"Well, I'm not so bad as you think," began
Bags.
David interrupted him with a yell of laughter.
"0 Lord, you make me howl,'" he said. " I dare
say you're not what you call bad at all. I'm sure
I don't know. You may only be bluffing. But
you've got into your head that it's rather fine to
have the air of an old buck-rabbit. 'Tisn't fine
really; any old buck-rabbit can do it. Besides,
you miss such a lot of pleasures. To-night, for
instance, we might have a ripping game of bridge,
but you want to sit on a counter in a fuggy shop,
and squeeze that girl's podgy hand, and look ever
such an ass if any decent chap comes in. If you
want to know, I should like to do it too-and I'd
cut you out in two shakes with that girl-only I
won't do it. And as I won't do it, I say podgy
hand and fuggy shop and that sort of thing. Oh,
Honourable Crabtree, I wish you'd drop all that
smelling about."
Honourable Crabtree considered this.
"But if I thought I wasn't going to kiss a girl
or-or that sort of thing till, say, the end of the
term," he said, "I should-no, I shouldn't cut my
throat, but I should feel infernally flat."
"But nobody wants you to think anything of
the sort," said the artful David. "Why look for



SECOND YEAR


173


ward like that? If I thought I was going to shave
every morning till the end of my life, I should
cut my throat instead. I couldn't face shaving so
many times. But don't think to-night what's to
happen or not to happen to-morrow or next week.
Just confine yourself to to-night. Come and have
a hectic rubber with Tommers and me and somebody. Let that suffice for the present. You'll
enjoy it awfully.... Good Lord, I never knew
I could preach so fine. Shall I take orders? Or
do you think they'll let me preach the 'Varsity
sermon next Sunday instead of my father? Leave
the licentious wench alone, and come round after
Hall and play bridge. Do!"
David paused a moment, looking frightfully
gay and attractive.
"Oh, do," he said.
"Right you are!"
"Ripping," said David.
He went to the window and shouted "Tommers! Tommers! Tomlin, Tomtit... Tommyrot..." until the window below was opened.
"Well?" said Tommers rather acidly. "What's
the row?"
"Oh, I say, Bags will play bridge all right,"
shouted David. "Just get one more, Tommers.
And have some clean cards."
David shut the window and pranced back into
the room, where Bags was already looking irresolute.
"But really I don't know if I can," he said.
"Get someone else, David. I promised I'd go
round there after Hall. She'll be  "
"Poor little devil!" said David. "She'll cry.
She'll have a sleepless night. She'll find somebody else. She'll drown herself. She'll meander
about Cambridge wailing 'Where's my Honour



174 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


able Crabtree?' She'll talk Scotch like the people in Stevenson, and say, 'Where's my ain ain
laddie, my ain, ain Bags?' She'll dye her petticoats black   "
"David, you're the greatest ass I've ever seen,"
said Bags.
"Stale news!" said David. "And the greatest
prig. Rather! But we'll rook Tommers after
Hall."
X
DAVID'S father was a notable commentator on the
obscurities in the epistles of St. Paul, and his
erudite work on that to the Galatians was so difficult of comprehension that the most advanced
ecclesiastical scholars of the day had been known
to turn back with a sense of relaxation to the text
of the epistle after a study of his exposition of it,
for nothing that St. Paul wrote could possibly be
so hard to understand as Dean Blaize's explanation of it. He always gave David a copy of his
works as they appeared, and with a humourous
smile was kind enough to cut the leaves for him,
before he presented him with them. "For you
will never do it yourself, David," he observed,
"and it would hurt my self-esteem to find them
uncut. "
David had certainly inherited his zest for life
from this admirable parent, for apart from this
melancholy habit of making St. Paul's epistles
even more difficult than they were already, Dean
Blaize was the most youthfully exuberant of men
with a delightful passion for entering into the
life of any place and people at or among which he
happened to find himself. This habit, when David
was at a private school, and his father paid a visit




SECOND YEAR


175


to it, had been deeply embarrassing to his son, for
the Dean bowled with small boys at cricket-nets,
made the most awful comments on the game,
bathed in the swimming-pond, where he took loud,
flat headers, and generally disgraced him. But
now David's attitude was completely changed;
he delighted in his father's youthful spirits as
being "jolly sporting," loved him and laughed
at him, and looked forward to his advent to preach
the University sermon with (apart from the necessity of attending it) the keenest satisfaction.
The only thing which seemed at all likely to jar
the harmony of their meeting was the consideration, which must be talked about, of what David
was to do in life after he had left the University. His father would certainly have liked him
to be a clergyman, but it was so obvious that
David wouldn't like it at all, that this project
might be considered as abandoned. Till lately,
David's own mind had been an absolute blank
with regard to any alternative, but now he had
begun to make up his mind for himself, and intended to talk it over with his father. It would
rather worry him, he was afraid: the vague idea
of "writing" for a livelihood would be likely to
seem Bohemian to the parental view.
David bicycled up to the station to meet him on
Saturday morning, and it was quite obvious that
his father would vastly prefer to bicycle down
himself, leaving David to follow with his luggage
in a taxi, rather than the other way about. David
jumped to this at once and was guileful.
"I think I'll put the bicycle on the top and
drive down with you," he said. "And then we'll
leave your luggage at the Provost's lodge, and
you'll come and lunch with me in my rooms."
The Dean's kind little eyes dwelt on the bicycle.




176   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"My dear, I should so much enjoy riding down
myself," he said, "if you don't want to."
"Sure?" said David.
"Yes, I should like it. But as for lunch,
oughtn't I to lunch at the Provost's, as I'm staying there? I"
"Oh no, don't," said David. "Because if you
do, the Provost will probably ask me as well, and
I'm dining there this evening. It'll be much more
fun in my rooms. Besides, we shan't be able to
get away early, and I want you to come and play
squash with me directly afterwards."
"Squash? Well, I should like a game of
squash," said his father. "I brought some flannels in case you suggested it. So let's do that.
I'll just look in at the Provost's, and shake hands
and come and join you! You dear fellow, what
fun we'll have. I wish you'd stop growing,
David."
David collected the luggage and gave his father
the bicycle. The saddle was some inches too high
for him, but he refused to have it altered, saying
that it was exactly right (which was odd, as David
was some five inches taller than his father), and
he rode off in his gaiters and stringed hat, with
the tips of his toes just touching the pedals when
fully extended.
"Rum old gent," said the porter to David.
David turned and withered him.
"Oh, that's your opinion, is it?" he said.
"There's a shilling for you for being such an
ass!"
"No offence, sir," said the porter.
"Not an atom," said David.     "Shut the
door.


The two had a wonderful game of squash.




SECOND YEAR


177


David stood quite still in the centre of the court,
and sent very easy shots first down one side and
then down the other, while his parent dashed to
right and left, and bumped himself against the
walls. When he seemed very much out of breath,
David either put one below the line, or sent him
something round the corner which he couldn't get
near. This brought the rally to an end, and the
exhausted commentator had a moment's respite.
"But you don't run about, David," he gasped.
"Why can't I make you bustle?"
"You will, and no mistake, when you've
warmed up a bit," said David.
So David gradually changed his tactics to suit
his father's ideas: he rushed after balls into the
corners of the court instead of waiting where he
was for them to come out to him off the back wall;
he began misjudging them and letting them get
out of reach, then wildly flying after them; he
served with a great deal of action and ran aimlessly across the court and back again, producing
generally the effect of a prodigious hurry and
exertion. The point of all this, of course, was
that his father should think that, as he "warmed
up," the struggle became tremendously tough,
and the boy had to exercise infinite tact and cunning (for if he played as he ordinarily would
have done, the Dean would never have got a point
at all) in order to produce the impression that he
was having his work cut out for him if he wanted
to win. So he ruffled his hair and mopped his
face, and with great care hit a quantity of balls
just below the line. That wanted some doing:
they had to be beautiful shots just a shade too
low.
David did his best to make his father win, but
unfortunately at the end of the third game, in




178 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


attempting to put the ball just below the line, he
made four superb shots just above it, and so
won the game. His father, dripping and dishevelled and enjoying himself enormously, had to
lean against the wall for a little while to recover.
David did the same, and absorbed in his pleasant
drama, failed to see a certain twinkle in his father's eye.
The Dean recovered his wind.
"One more game?" he asked faintly. He felt
as if he was made of wet paper, and would shortly
die of accelerated heart-beat. But he wanted another game.
"Couldn't," said David. "I'm absolutely done.
What a wind you've got!"
They dressed and went back to David's room
for tea. They were dining with the Provost tonight, and to-morrow his father was coming to
the weekly dinner of the Sunday Club with A. G. 's
Sunday evening at-home to follow. So they were
to have this hour, David had arranged, to themselves for private talk, and he had warned any
who might be expected to stroll into his rooms for
purposes of general sociability to keep away.
"Now, that's jolly," said the Dean as they
settled themselves. "Gracious me, how stiff I
shall be to-morrow! But there's nothing nicer
than being stiff from exercise. No, I won't have
a cigarette. You can't give me a pipe to smoke,
can you?"
"There's  only   Perpetua,"  said  David.
"You're welcome to her, but I'm not sure she'll
be welcome to you."
"Perpetua, Virgin and Martyr?" he asked.
"Let's have a look. Why Perpetua?.... Ah,
a meerschaum, I see. No, my dear boy, I think I




SECOND YEAR


179


won't. Precious things are meerschaums. Now,
how goes it all, David?"
"Oh, rippingly, all but Frank's being away.
He's at Athens, you know."
"Yes, you told me. But you're working hard,
I hope, and playing your games hard. While
you're young, my dear, do everything as hard as
you cam  There'll be time to do things quietly
when you get older."
"Well, I might do a little more work if I tried,"
said David.
"Have a try, then. I must call on your tutor,
by the way, and see if he agrees with you."
"He will," said David.
"Highly likely. And have you got any clearness yet about what you want to do when you go
down?"
David had filled Perpetua for himself, as his
father did not care to assist at the burning of the
"Virgin and Martyr." He made a few bubbly
squeaks and groans before he answered.
"I want above all things to write," he said.
"Literary gent, father!"
"What do you mean exactly? Newspaper
work, novels, research?"
"Anything, so long as it's writing," said
David. "I like writing so much better than anything else."
His father nodded.
"Well, come now," he said. "It's something
to know the sort of thing you want. Up till now
you've only been clear as to the sort of thing you
didn't want. My dear boy, surely that's a remarkably foul pipe, isn't it?"
"Yes, horrid," said David. "Think I'll stop."
"Don't mind me," said his father. "But you
really can't enjoy it much, can you?"




180 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"I don't. I only want to make her black," said
David, putting it down. "I say, Dad, do you dislike the idea of my taking to writing? I see such
lots of things that interest me and amuse me,
and whenever I do, I always want to describe
them. "
"Well, that sounds like a vocation. We'll go
into that. As for disliking it, I hope I should
never dislike anything on which your heart was
set. It's part of you, David, and up till the present, I don't dislike anything that I know of you
very particularly. Now, where are we? Yes, I
remember that you once showed me an essay you
had written on Marlowe's Faustus. It was well
written, and lucid too, which the critics always
tell me I am not. I remember thinking that you
seemed to have thought out what you wanted to
say, and then to have gone and said it. That's
certainly the way to write."
He put one plump gaitered leg over the other,
and quickly took it off again. The stiffness...
"It isn't what I should have chosen for you,"
he said; "but then, as you might remind me, it
isn't for me to choose. Now, whether you can do
it or not, so as to succeed, we don't know, and
we can't know unless you try. But apart from
that, it's a chancy profession: there are few
prizes, and many blanks even for the industrious
and the competent, though I don't say that that
is the main consideration in any choice. If you'd
said, for instance, that you wanted to enter the
Stock Exchange, I should have disliked that very
much indeed. Now let's take another point.
Unless you get a post on a paper, reviewing or
what not, there's no salary attached to the profession of letters. That again is not everything,
but it's something. I'm not a rich man, David,




SECOND YEAR


181


but even if I was, I should want you to be earning
money on your own account. To be able to support yourself and make an income of your own is
by no means a sordid consideration. Moneymaking is not a bad test of a man's character up
to a certain point. It implies industry and application and self-reliance, as well as ability-all
good things. Do you follow me?"
"Rather. And agree with you."
"You won't presently, I expect," said his father. "Now, when you say that you see such lots
of interesting and amusing things and want to
describe them, what class of subjects interests
you most?"
"Oh, people, any day," said David.
"Now we're getting a bit more definite. That
points to fiction, novel-writing. I don't deal much
in that branch of literature myself, but to write a
fine novel is to do a fine thing. But how many
people in the world can write a fine novel? And
what's the chance of your being one of them?
Of course you don't know till you've tried, not
once or twice, but till you've sweated and bled
over it. However, that's what you want."
"I want it awfully," said David.
His father laughed.
"You   needn't say  that,"  he  remarked.
"Whenever you want anything at all, you want it
awfully. That's one of the things I thoroughly
like about you, David."
"Got it from you," said David.
"Heavens, how polite we are! What compliments! Now, if you want a thing awfully, you
must be prepared to make sacrifices for it."
David's face fell. He anticipated a suggestion
of his leaving Cambridge, and acquiring experi



182 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
ence of writing and books in some newspaper's or
publisher's office.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Well, the sacrifice I propose and expect of you
is this. I want you to work extremely hard at
your Latin and Greek. Really hard and regularly. You would, of course, much sooner be
reading English and practising writing it. You
probably think it a great waste of time, with the
literary profession in front of you, to be doing
Latin proses and Greek iambics, and to be devoting all your energies, which I ask you to do,
to learning to write and translate in obsolete dead
tongues, instead of working at your own. Don't
you think so?"
"I do," said David.
"I thought you would not be agreeing with me
before we got much further in our talk. But here
I want you to do as you're told. I daresay you
won't believe me, but I tell you that to translate
Greek accurately and well into English, and to
put English with precision and economy into
Greek, gives you a mastery of expression that is
the prime essential to good writing. You've got
to grasp a thought firmly and fully, and to prove
you've grasped it by expressing it in another
medium. Moreover, it's drudgery, and drudgery
is extremely good for you, my dear, because you
do things easily. And it's gymnastics to make
your mind-muscles strong. See?"
"I understand, if you mean that, Dad," said
David. "I don't agree."
"I don't want you to; I don't ask you to. I
want you just to take the medicine I suggest, and
perhaps in a year's time you may agree that it
has done you good. But it doesn't matter really
whether you agree even then. It will have done




SECOND YEAR


183


you good, if you've taken it regularly. That is
the one condition I insist on, if you want me to
accept your choice, and to think you're serious
about it."
" Right," said David.
His father got up.
"Well, you've given me a jolly tea," he said,
"and we've had a jolly talk-at least I have; but
I've not quite done yet. There's a thing more
important than all brains and intellect and success put together, dear David, and that's character. You're a handsome boy and an attractive
one, and there are hundreds of temptations round
you all day, which we needn't talk about because
you know what I mean every bit as well as I do.
Walk warily and walk boldly, my darling boy, and
God bless you."
He laid his hands on David's head a moment,
looking him in the face both earnestly and merrily. What he saw there gave him a full heart.
"You were but a little chap when your mother
was taken from us," he said. "If she'd lived,
she'd have been proud of you, David."
He paused a moment, patting his shoulder.
"I am too," he said, "and that's all I need tell
you. I must be off now to see your tutor. And
you were very kind to me over that game of
squash. I saw through you."
"Saw through me?" said David. "What do
you mean? "
"Now you've got to answer me faithfully. Do
you or don't you know that you could give me
twelve points in a game?"
David burst out laughing.
"Yes, about twelve," he said.
"Very well. What an old ass you must have
thought me, if you really believed I didn't see




184 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


through you. But you meant it kindly. Walk
with me as far as your tutor's."
David attended his father's discourse at the
University Church next day, and took Bags with
him. It lasted a full hour, was totally unintelligible, and they both went peacefully to sleep. But
the Sunday evening supper was a great success,
and the Dean enjoyed himself enormously. He
was wonderfully young, younger than anyone
there except David, and he sat down on Perpetua,
breaking her into stinking smithereens. David
begged him not to send him a new meerschaum,
but gracefully accepted the cash equivalent.
He left early next morning, in order to get
down into Cornwall that night, and popped into
David's room to wish him good-bye. David's
sitting-room was tidy and empty, and as there
was no sign of breakfast there, he most mistakenly concluded that David had already had it,
and in pursuance of the industry they had talked
about was already at a lecture or at work with
his coach. As a matter of fact there was no sign
of David's breakfast, not because it had been
cleared away, but because he had ordered it for
ten o'clock, and it had not yet come. So his
father left a note on his table, bidding him farewell, and expressing his gratification at this early
rising.
The noise of the shutting of the door roused
David from his pleasant sleep. He had meant to
see his father off and breakfast afterwards, and
seeing that he had overslept himself, he dressed
in a great hurry, and found that laudatory note
on the table in his sitting-room.
"Oh, this'll never do," he said, and rushed to
the station on his bicycle. The train was on the




SECOND YEAR


185


point of starting, but he found his father in the
corner of a third-class carriage smoking his pipe
and reading his Bible.
"Just caught you," he cried. "I say, father,
I wasn't out at a lecture at all. I was fast asleep... Not had breakfast yet. But I will get up
earlier. I have enjoyed your visit. Perfectly
ripping!...
XI
MR. CROWFOOT was walking very quickly along
the broad gravel path that led past the Provost's
Lodge to the bridge over the river at the back of
King's. He put down each foot directly in front
of the other, instead of slightly to the side as is
the habit of most people, on an ingenious theory
(which he was perfectly willing to prove to you,
if you had time, by means of a contraption of
weights and string and pulleys which invariably
got into a sad tangle) that the pedestrian thus
ensured a more stable equilibrium with less fatigue. The foot in process of advance had to be
swung in a slight curve, otherwise it kicked the
heel of the foot that was on the ground. That
occasionally happened when he forgot about the
curve, and then the equilibrium lost something
of its matchless stability. As the sun was extremely powerful, Mr. Crowfoot wore a blaok
bowler hat (for black thwarted the action of the
actinic ray, which produced sunstroke), a thick
sweater underneath his coat (for on these very
hot days it was easy to catch cold unless you were
careful), and flannel trousers which hung in festoons over his shoes (for they were sure to shrink
in the wash and would then be exactly the right
length). He carried a croquet mallet of peculiar




186 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


construction under his arm: this had a hinge halfway up the handle with a catch to it, so that when
you were carrying it you could slip the catch and
fold it up for convenience of transport, and there
you were. Sometimes when he was making a very
vigorous stroke the catch came undone by accident, and the mallet head swinging round caught
him a smart blow on the shoulder, and swinging
back again pinched his finger in the hinge, but
this was a comparatively rare occurrence.
He also carried a string net for lawn-tennis
balls: this had a hole in it other than those involved in its construction, but a piece of newspaper spread inside it prevented the balls from
falling out. In his other hand he had a small
travelling-bag of shiny black leather covered
with labels, containing all the various things
which he might possibly require during the afternoon, and under his arm was a lawn-tennis raequet with a metal disc on each side of the centrepiece. This was a most ingenious dodge: it had a
circular clock-like face on which, instead of hours,
were the figures "15," "30," "40," and "advantage," and you twirled round the pointer in accordance with your score. The second disc on the
other side of the racquet was precisely similar,
and on it you recorded the score of your adversaries. So if there was any dispute about the
score, as so often happened, you could refer to
these discs as to a court of appeal.
Mr. Crowfoot came underneath David's window in the buildings by the river, and after clearing his throat, shouted "Blaize" in a bell-like
voice.
David had forgotten that Crowfoot refused to
recognise summer-time, and as he had said that
he would call for him at two, had been expecting




SECOND YEAR


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him for the last hour. Crowfoot maintained that
the time that won the battle of Trafalgar was
good enough for him, and he referred to it as
God's time, as if on one of the days of Creation,
God had said, "Let there be a watch," and there
was a watch which He had wound up and set
going....
David hurried downstairs.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. "I
thought you told me you would come for me at
two."
Crowfoot laughed delightedly and cleared his
throat.
"Caught you there," he said. "You forgot my
principles about summer-time.... Oh, dear me!"
The piece of newspaper in the string net for
lawn-tennis balls got displaced, and all the balls
fell out and bounced on the gravel walk. Two of
them rolled swiftly down the grass slope to the
river. Some were brown, some black, some green
with length of service.
"How very tiresome!" said Crowfoot. "Save
them, Blaize, save them! Oh, dear me!"
David bounded down the grass slope in time
to intercept one of the balls; the other trickled
into the river.
"And that was the best one," said Crowfoot,
adjusting his spectacles to get a good look at it.
"But wait a minute, I've got a dodge."
He hurriedly put down his black bag and his
tennis racquet, adjusted the catch of the croquetmallet, and looped the string bag on to the end
of the handle, like a landing net.
"That's awfully ingenious,"   said  David.
"Shall I fish it out?"
"No, let me," said Crowfoot in the pride of




188 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


invention. "But you might catch hold of my
coat-tails. Better run no risks."
The string bag thereupon fell off the end of the
croquet mallet into the river, and it looked as if
they were worse off than ever. But as David
could reach both it and the tennis-ball quite easily
with his hand, all the floating property was recovered, dripping but intact.
"I can soon set that right," said Crowfoot,
greatly pleased.
He opened his black bag (the leather one covered with labels) and took out a small towel, with
which he dried the ball. David had one intoxicating glance at the rest of the contents, and knew
he would get no real peace of mind till he had a
good look at all its treasures. That one glimpse
had shown him such miscellaneous articles as a
shoe-horn, pieces of notepaper, a small wooden
mallet, and a bottle with a red label of "Poison"
on it.
Meantime the piece of newspaper which had so
dismally failed in its office of stopping up the
hole in the string net had blown away on to the
lawn, where it was trundling along under the hot
breeze. David sped after it, but by the time he
had retrieved it and returned, Crowfoot had put
the tennis-balls into the black bag. But a piece of
newspaper might easily come in useful before
the afternoon was over, so he folded it up and
put it in too.
"We're sure to want it," he said, and even as
the words were on his lips, he added, "in fact we
want it already," and opening the bag again, he
wrapped up the damp lawn-tennis ball in it....
Thrilling though all this was, they had at present
only got as far as the bridge over the river, but
now Mr. Crowfoot, having packed everything up




SECOND YEAR


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again, looked at his watch, and began to walk
very briskly.
"Just half past three," he said, "by this newfangled time. Stapleton and Gray are coming
down presently, so we might have a single first or
a game of croquet. What do you say to a short
game of croquet, Blaize? Why shouldn't we play
with one ball, and hit it in turns? You might
make a very diverting game out of that idea.
Then, you see, whoever got through the last hoop
first would become a rover and put the other ball
out. Stay! That wouldn't work, because there
wouldn't be another ball."
He appeared lost in thought over this complicated notion, and David incautiously said that it
was a fine day. He thought that could not lead
to an argument, and was completely wrong.
"That all depends what you mean by a fine
day," said Crowfoot eagerly. "I daresay that
when a fish says it's a fine day it means an extremely wet one."
"I meant an ordinary fine day on land," said
David, beginning to feel his head whirl.
"Very well; but then I say 'fish,' " said Crowfoot, "which means just the reverse. So where
are you then?"
David hadn't the slightest idea where he was,
but they had arrived (in the feeble literal sense)
at the croquet lawn, and Crowfoot began trying
all the hoops like a dentist feeling a patient's
teeth, and found that one was loose.
"I suspected as much," he said delightedly,
"and I've come prepared for it. Would you mind
giving me the wooden mallet that you'll find in
my bag, Blaize? I'll stop here by the hoop, otherwise we might forget which it was, and have to
try them all again."




190 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


David's opportunity had come, and he opened
the black bag which Crowfoot had left in the
summer-house and pretended not to see the mallet
until he had noted the other contents. There was
the shoe-horn and the notepaper and the bottle
labelled "Poison" which he had seen before, and
now he found some cigars in an old envelope,
with the address crossed out and "Cigars" written in, several copies of a glee, a quantity of
pieces of string, some sticking-plaster, an ashtray, several tram-tickets, and a small shagreen
case, which flew open and disclosed a set of false
teeth. Then there was a nail-brush, a half-bottle
of Tintara, with a wine-glass without a stem, and
a watch. There were some other things as well,
but there was not time for a systematic survey,
and he went back to Crowfoot with the wooden
mallet.
"Lucky I brought it," said Crowfoot, and proceeded to deal prodigious blows at the hoop. The
third of these struck him on the foot, and at the
next the mallet flew in half like Siegfried's anvil.
"Very fortunate it didn't break before," he
said, as he stood on one foot, and rubbed his injured toes, "but now the hoop's as tight as tight.
Better not throw the pieces away; we might hit
upon something to do with them. Now for our
croquet. Oh dear, the boundary line isn't marked
out, and I haven't got any whitewash. I must
remember that another day. As it is, let's play
without boundaries. It makes a very pleasant
game. Will you have a small cigar?"
David declined the cigar, and while Crowfoot
was adjusting the hinge of his patent mallet,
fetched an ordinary one for himself and the balls.
They then croquetted each other into thickets and
flower-beds, and Crowfoot, who had adjusted the




SECOND YEAR


191


side lenses of his spectacles in order to focus the
balls with distinctness, dropped them off his nose
into a dense bed of forget-me-nots, where David
had sent his ball, and in looking for them got
stung by a bee. But the bottle of "Poison" had
been brought for that extreme contingency (it
was equally good for the bites of gnats), and he
rubbed it on his neck with such satisfaction that
it was clear he would much sooner have been
stung than not. Then resuming, he captured
David's ball, and in making a prodigious swipe at
it, he must have pressed the catch in the handle
of his mallet. The head did not hit the ball but
flew like a shell from a howitzer into the bushes.
He retrieved it, and made it safe, by wrapping
round the socket the newspaper which should
have prevented the tennis balls from falling out
of the string bag.
The game did not last so long as might have
been expected, for one of David's balls got interned among the roots of an elm-tree, and he
could only hit it on the top, which, if anything,
made it tighter than ever. He wanted to lift it,
but Crowfoot assured him that no such privilege
was allowed in the rules, of which he had a copy
in his bag.
"But then it doesn't allow for elm-trees being
on the ground," said David.
"There you are then!" said Crowfoot. "You
mustn't do anything it doesn't say you may.
Otherwise you might put your ball by hand
through the hoops."
Crowfoot therefore had two turns to David's
one, for it was not worth while to go to the elmtree and hit the yellow ball on the top each time
it had to play, and black and blue proceeded
merrily. When the game was over, he uncorked




192  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
the half-bottle of Tintara, and they drank from
the stemless wine-glass draughts of that tepid but
generous wine.
"Very refreshing," said Crowfoot, "and now
won't you have a small cigar?"
By an unaccountable oversight he had forgotten to bring any matches.
"Really, very extraordinary," he said, turning
the contents of the bag over. "Here they areno-that's only tintacks. Stay; here's a burningglass. We shall manage it yet."
Crowfoot made a memorandum of this omission
on the note-paper he had brought down, but had
not got farther with the lighting of a cigar than
burning a small hole in the knee of his flannel
trousers, when Gray and Stapleton appeared.
"Ha, ha, Blaizides," said A. G. "How awfully
jolly. You and I will play together, and you shall
take everything. But are these the balls we're
to play with? They're all black and brown and
green. "
"They're very good balls indeed," said Crowfoot snappishly. He had not asked A. G. to play
at all, but A. G. had heard him unsuccessfully
asking someone else, and had merely said that he
would do so.... Besides, there had been high
words between them at a Fellows' meeting that
morning on the subject of a mowing machine for
the lawn. Crowfoot had objected to the purchase
of a green one, because it would be hard to see it
against the grass; you might easily stumble over
it and get a bad fall.
"But we shan't see them against the grass, like
your mowing-machine," said A. G.
"That's perfectly different," began Crowfoot.
David intervened in the cause of peace, for
Crowfoot was winking his eyes with incredible




SECOND YEAR


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rapidity, as he always did when he was annoyed.
"They bounce beautifully," he said, hurling
one on to the grass....
The game was no dull or stereotyped one.
A. G. stood quite still in the middle of the court,
talking all the time, and dabbing with his racquet
at any ball that threatened to hit him as if it had
been some troublesome fly, while David, with the
perspiration streaming off the end of his nose,
dashed from side to side of the court, and sent
the ball whizzing past his partner's majestic immobility. He knew nothing whatever about lawntennis, and played the real tennis stroke with
great enjoyment but little effect. Crowfoot, with
his bowler-hat fixed firmly on his forehead and his
eyes gleaming with angry passions, pattered
about with extraordinary nimbleness, and seemed
bent on hitting Gray in the stomach. His racquet
was about as tight as a landing-net and he did not
so much hit the ball as receive it in the landingnet, and then with a sharp turn of his wrist sling
it back again with paralysing speed. He was not
very accurate, but if it did not go into the net
or far beyond the backline, it was most difficult
to return as it shot along the ground. Stapleton,
on the other hand, made no effort at attack, but
was content to send the ball back very slow and
high, and in an absent manner, because he was
thinking about an erotic rhapsody in vers libre.
There was considerable difference of opinion
about the score, for A. G. mixed up in his agreeable conversation any scoring numerals that came
into his head, and Crowfoot, though he marked
something up on the dials on his racquet at the
conclusion of every rally, was not always sure
which dial recorded his own score and which that
of his adversaries. This uncertainty he reme



194 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


died by writing "Us" on one dial in purple indelible pencil which came off on his fingers, and
"Them" on the other. But A. G.'s random assertions confused him, and the pointer of "Them"
got loose and kept on recording "Advantage" to
Them, while his own score was nothing, and this
was clearly an impossible state for the game to
be in. But through all these agitations A. G.'s
voice went serenely on.
"Ha, ha, well played, Blaizides," he said.
"Forty love. That one very nearly hit me. The
ball is as invisible as dear old Crowfoot's mowing
machine. How awfully jolly it all is! Thirty. I
used to play lawn tennis on the Golden Horn with
the Grand Vizier of Abdul Hamid and one of his
wives in a yashmak, at the time of the Armenian
massacres. Such a charming woman. I think he
had her strangled. Where has Stapleton sent
that ball? I saw it go up, but it never came down.
Probably it has-advantage to us-become a
satellite of the earth. I think I shall go and
bathe afterwards, if you will be awfully kind and
go and fetch my towels for me. I would send
Antonio, but he has got a bad headache. Love all.
How very Biblical and Christian that sounds-or
are we fifteen? I don't believe you are more than
fifteen, my dear David. You are an imperishable
child. How delightful to be able to run like that
and not mind. I was at Athens once when the
Olympic games were being celebrated, and they
wanted me to go in for the lawn tennis championship and King George gave away the prizes and
we had tea afterwards. Let's have tea afterwards
to-day, and that will be a most remarkable coincidence. Forty love!"
"It isn't anything of the kind," said Crowfoot,
referring first to one dial and then the other. "It's




SECOND YEAR


195


thirty fifteen; no, it seems to be thirty advantage,
or advantage thirty, but the pointer has slipped.
It's thirty anyhow."
"It's thirty all," said Stapleton firmly. "At
least it was just now, because I heard you say so.
I served four faults, and then they put two into
the net."
"Very likely, but lots of things have happened
since then," said Crowfoot. "Let me recollect.
There was that high one, and then Gray didn't
take-   "
"Dear old Crowfoot," said Gray, "you talk
about me as if I had just been vaccinated. The
smallpox was very bad in Athens that yearNo, do that again, Stapleton. I wasn't ready;
you were all talking. "
"But you tried it," said Crowfoot excitedly.
"Forty thirty."
"I always try everything," said A. G. "There
is no pleasure, however subtle, that I haven't
tried. Dear me, my shoelace is undone. It would
be awfully jolly of you, David, if you would tie
it for me. My doctor has told me never to stoop
even to conquer: all good doctors tell you never to
do what you have no intention whatever of doing.
They tell you never to touch baked blue-bottles.
Thanks so much, my dear boy. How is your father? I wish I was a Dean and lived in gaiters
and Gothic coolness.  Now  I'm ready, Poet
Stapleton. 'Stand still, true poet that you are,'
as Browning said, and serve to me. Where has
it gone? Up somewhere out of sight above the
moon. '0 moon of my delight that knows no
wane!' Dear old Fitzgerald!-he used often to
read Omar Khayyam to Tennyson and me."
This ceaseless flow of preposterous monologue
was madly irritating to Crowfoot, and David




196 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
heard him murmur, "I don't believe a word of
it," in an acid voice.
"There is the ball again," continued A. G. without pause. "It has come down again. Take it,
David-or was it served to me? Get out of my
way, then. Awfully sorry, Stapleton, but I forget whether it was served to me between the
time it left the earth and returned to it. Send
me another-Deuce!"
"'Advantage,'" said Crowfoot, twirling his
pointer round.
David thought that this divergence of opinion
had yet to be talked out, so when Stapleton sent
him another high one, he merely caught it and
threw it back.
"Good service," said Crowfoot. "That makes
us game. Three love, or is it three all? Three
love, I think. Gray's service."
A. G.'s technique in service was to stroll about
well inside the court, sending balls casually over
the net and into it. If he thought the first was not
going over or was defective in any way, he instantly served another before the first had declared itself. He sent two thus to Crowfoot, who
returned them both raspingly out of court and
cried:
"Foot-fault! love fifteen."
"Crowfoot and his Mormonisms!" said A. G.
"Thirty love."
"No; love fifteen," reiterated Crowfoot.
"But you've just sent two out of the court.
Thirty love. Give me another ball, David.
Feed me with balls; comfort me with racquets, as
the Song of Solomon says."
"But-it-was-a-foot-fault," said Crowfoot, all in
one word.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talk



SECOND YEAR


197


ing about," said A. G. "Ha! ha! that was out."
"No, it wasn't; I saw the whitewash jump,"
said Crowfoot. "Love thirty."
"Forty love," said A. G., lighting a cigarette.
"Fair, fat, and forty."
"This is a farce," exclaimed Crowfoot. "And
that was another foot-fault."
A. G. paid not the slightest attention to this,
but he thought he had served enough for the present on this hot day, and hit the rest of his balls
over to the other side. Crowfoot missed the first,
but sent the second smartly back again, and his
hat fell off. The ball hit A. G. in the stomach
with a hollow sound.
David who up till this moment had been be-'
having with ascetic self-restraint, suddenly gave
out, and burst into hoots of laughter long overdue.   Crowfoot, already  much  exasperated,
thought he was laughing at the fall of his hat
(which was true), A. G. at the severe impact of
the ball (which was true also), and they both
turned flinty faces towards him. But he laughed
on, and as they looked, the creases of justifiable
annoyance were expunged from their faces; it
was impossible to be angry with anybody while
the boy laughed like that. A. G. joined in first,
and a moment afterwards Crowfoot.
Crowfoot picked up his hat, and cleared his
throat.
"Really very humorous," he said.
Stapleton alone remained grave and lost in
thought.
"Have we finished the set?" he asked. "Is
that all?"
This caused a fresh paroxysm; when it had subsided, David wiped his eyes.
"0 Lord, how it hurts!" he said. "Sorry for




198 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
laughing, but I couldn't help it. Where are we?. Let's go on.... Let it all happen again."
"Very comical," said Crowfoot. "I hope I
didn't hurt you, Gray."
"Not a bit, old chap. How's your hat?"
"If that's all, I shall go away," said Stapleton.
Nobody felt inclined to sing the glees which
Crowfoot had put in his bag, and after a while
David strolled up to the real tennis court, leaving
Crowfoot trying to tighten the pointers of his
scoring disks with a hair-pin. Every now and
then his mouth broke into merriment as he recalled the really wonderful events of the afternoon, but presently he settled down into a general
beaming content with existence. The term had
been thoroughly delightful and prosperous; he
had done a most creditable amount of work, according to the bargain struck with his father;
Bags, though still Lotharian at heart, had
changed his tobacconist for one over whose counter there was no temptation to linger; and David
could not only read hymn-tunes on the piano
without any overpowering efforts at concentration, but was playing cricket for the University
eleven. The dry crumbly wickets suited him, and
though in the last match he had taken no wickets
whatever, and had probably established a record
by having more boundaries hit off him in a short
space of time than had ever been hit off anybody,
he had established another record by going in
eighth wicket down and hitting eleven fours in
succession off the Middlesex bowlers. He was
then caught off a no-ball and completed his fifty
with some careful singles.... In fact he had
won the match for his side when it appeared to
have been lost, and nobody had been more sur



SECOND YEAR


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prised than himself. But it was clearly useful to
have somebody on the side who had been bowling
in the most devastating manner (and might
therefore do so again) and who could do impertinent and unlooked-for things like that against
good bowling. In the deep field he could, by virtue of the astonishing way in which he could get
over the ground, save runs as nobody else could,
and if no catches came his way, he was wonderfully useful. He usually dropped catches, because he thought he was going to, and no recital
of M. Coue's formula ever made him think otherwise.... Then there was his tennis, the challenge round of which was to be played to-morrow,
but unlike last year, he had no divided mind as
to whether he wanted to win or not. The challenger was an odious young gentleman, about
whom even David had been unable to discover any
good points, except his tennis, and he didn't think
very much of that. He wore a green shade on his
forehead, disputed the rulings of the marker, and
it was impossible not to believe that he did not
try to put you off by clattering with his feet while
waiting for the ball to be returned. He didn't
play games like ordinary people, but when he had
a court, he had basketfuls of balls cut over to
him, and hot forces sent for him to stop. David
intended to give him some of these to-morrow.
But it was not retrospect only, nor indeed
retrospect mainly that conduced to David's content this afternoon.  To-night, if Frank had
caught his connexion in Paris, he would arrive
here by half past nine; if he had failed to do so,
he would get here to-morrow morning. Probably not a day had passed since his departure for
Athens on which David had not consciously
missed him, but there would be no more such days




200 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
for the present. Would he ever, he wondered,
come to the end of the things he had got to tell
him and talk over? Yet what was there worth
telling? Frank would burst into his room and
say " Hullo! " and David would say " Hullo! " and
they would be back again precisely at the point
where they left off, and probably begin to rag
or contradict each other....
David caught sight of a figure walking very
airily ahead of him. Such tittuping gait and such
riding-breeches could not possibly belong to anybody but Bags. So he concealed himself behind
a couple of men who were between him and Bags
and were walking the same way, so that if Bags
looked round he would not see him. When he had
come quite close, David darted out of his ambush,
took hold of him firmly by the shoulders, and ran
behind him, pushing him swiftly along, and bending down behind his back, so that Bags could not
see who it was that so strongly propelled him.
For some fifty yards they progressed like this,
Bags uselessly resisting. Then by a violent effort
he disengaged himself and disclosed to David the
face of a perfect stranger with an awful squint.
David, very hot already, turned to the most
remarkable crimson.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry," he said. "I thought
you were a man I know."
The stranger chattering with rage said, "I'm
glad you don't."
"It was awfully rotten of me," said David.
"Awfully," said the stranger, and waited for
David to go in front.
David turned into the gate of the tennis court,
his knees trembling with terror at this severity.
There was no one else up at the court, and he
had a couple of sets with the marker, but then




SECOND YEAR


201


abandoned the game, for a dense bank of cloud
had come up in the west, and the light grew too
bad to go on. The clear baking heat of the afternoon had become vastly more oppressive, and
when he came out again, it was like stepping into
some airless vapour-bath. Not a breath of breeze
stirred, the towers of full-foliaged elms stood motionless as if cast in iron, and the outlines of
trees and buildings, though veiled in this premature and gloomy twilight, were of a curious hard
distinctness, as if seen through a telescope. Right
across the sky, from the west and already reaching nearly to the zenith, there had built itself up
a rampart of cloud, with black blotted edges, and
tinged within some with stale coppery light
against which the grey pinnacles of the chapels
showed chalky-white. Now and then some furnace-hot eddy in the air made a sudden commotion in the trees; the leaves were tossed and displayed their pale under-sides, and as he crossed
the bridge, the surface of the river, smooth as ice
and dark as asphalt, was momentarily corrugated, and the long sprays of the weeping willow
lashed themselves against the coping. Once, very
remotely, there was some mutter of thunder from
the far base of that tremendous bastion of blackness which now, reared up over more than half
the sky, was hard-edged like masonry, and a
couple of raindrops plopped on the stone parapet
of the bridge, and instantly evaporated from the
hot surface.... It was all rather exciting and
ominous, and David as he passed by the willow,
which after its sudden wild commotion was absolutely still again, found himself noting the signals
of the approaching storm.
"Everything dark and distinct," he said to
himself. "Looks like something in a dream. Not




202 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
real, but terrifying, like a dream of the end of the
world. One gap in that monstrous cloud with
pale green showing through. Dead still, but with
hot eddies, whirling madly.... River like marble. Hullo, Tommers!"
Tommers strolled limply out of the court by
the river.
"Something's going to happen," said David.
"There's such a storm coming up as never was.
Probably the judgment day. Well, I'm glad I've
had a ripping afternoon for the last. I've been
playing croquet and lawn tennis and real tennis
and drinking Tintara. Crowfoot had a small
bottle of it with some false teeth in a black bag.
It was exactly like the mad tea-party in Alice in
Wonderland. Have some more wine? What's
the matter?"
Tommers had collapsed on the grass.
"Nothing. I'm only dead," he said.
"How awfully jolly and peaceful!" said David
in A. G.'s voice. "One ball hit A. G. in the middle of the stomach. I love a thunderstorm. It
makes me feel excited, and my hair stands on
end."
"It always does," said Tommers.
"Liar! It usually only sits up. You feel ill
before a storm, Tommers, because you're fat and
wicked. It's the grossness of your vile body
which trembles and quakes. I take no notice  "
A tattered streamer of lightning flicked across
the sky; in the clear darkness it was like a sudden beam from a bull's-eye lantern. David
ducked his head, as if it had been aimed at him
and had narrowly missed him, and Tommers
gurgled.
"As for you, you take no notice of it," he observed.




SECOND YEAR


203


"But it shouldn't have done that," said David
in an injured tone.  "It should have begun
gradually. Now they're pouring out bagfuls of
marbles on a wooden floor. Come on; it's close
on hall-time. Isn't it frightfully interesting?"
Though it was still not yet the hour of sunset
(even by the time that won the battle of Trafalgar), the darkness, when they came out of hall,
was that of night, thick and hot and of windless
and menacing tranquillity. There had just been
that one vivid discharge of lightning and no more,
nor any further drop of rain beyond such as had
steamed and dried on the parapet of the bridge,
and heaven and earth waited, finger on lip, for the
storm to break. Groups stood about at the entrance of staircases to get a breath of air and
watch for the crash of the unloosed forces. Then
in the stillness there came the loud hiss of the
rain from just beyond the river, and David bolted
at top-speed for his rooms. Before he got there,
the sluices directly overhead were opened, and he
was soaked through from the last thirty yards of
his run. He stripped off his wet things and, for
the sake of coolness in the sultry swelter, put
on pyjamas.
The kitchen had already sent in the supper for
two that he had ordered, for Frank would have
had but a hurried dinner in town, and if one
thing in the world was certain, it was that immediately on arrival he would come round to
David's rooms and demand to be fed. Till then
there was a couple of hours to be got through, and
he rather wished that his flight down here had not
been so precipitate, for apparently nobody else
had come down but had fled to rooms more
neighbourly, and he seemed to be quite alone in
the buildings. "Mr. David Blaize," he thought




204 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


to himself, "at home. 'Thunder and lightning'
in the bottom left-hand corner," and he sat down
in the window to observe.
The rain came down in point-blank volleys,
stripping the leaves from the trees. His electric
light made an illuminated square outside, and
from time to time some white rod of rain sparkled
with a flash of prismatic colour. Then, as if by
the brisk turning-off of a tap, the rain ceased
altogether and the dead wall of blackness, now
that his light had nothing to shine upon, moved
close up to the window. The trees dripped, and
the charged gutters gurgled in the stillness, but
his eyes, peer as they might, could see nothing
whatever. Then along the gravel path came the
shuffling footsteps of half a dozen fellows who
had taken advantage of this lull to get back to
their rooms, and David heard some voice say,
"Black as pitch. Where on earth is anything?"
And someone answered, "Hold on; I've got a
match!"
There was no need for a match, nor indeed for
the light of moon or sun, for at that moment the
pall of that gross darkness was whisked away by
a terrific illumination. Right down the centre of
the sky, as if the heavens had split with the crack
of doom, leapt a riband of blinding light, and
David's eyes still blinked with it when the crash
of the thunder followed, no roll or rumble among
echoing clouds, but sharp and appalling. Straight
on the heels of that came another blaze, intense
and violent, and the floodgates were opened again.
For near on two hours David knelt on his
window-seat, with elbows on the sash, entranced
by the wild tumult, and his mind seething with
words to express it. One storm had broken
directly overhead, and in the pauses of that he




SECOND YEAR


205


could hear that another was coming up from the
east. Sometimes the whole foreground was lit
as by an instantaneous noonday that showed the
yellow flush of buttercups in the meadow beyond
the river and cast black shadows of the trees in
front on to the grass below his window, and sometimes from some flare out of the other quarter the
shadow of the building in which he sat was imprinted on the lawn and every leaf of the dripping
trees was green and distinct. It was in vain that
he attempted to occupy himself with work, vain
even was it to amuse himself with his piano,
for everything, himself included, was dwarfed
and puny compared with this spectacle. But as
the hour for Frank's arrival came and passed,
and still the minutes ticked on without sign of
him, David began to wonder what had happened
to stop him. Of course there were a hundred explanations; indeed, it seemed idle to expect him
while this hurly-burly continued. He might not
have caught his connexion in Paris, in which case
he would not be here till to-morrow; or, if he had
arrived, he would probably be unable to get a
taxi at all in such a deluge, but be sheltering at
the station, while this incessant stabbing of the
lightning went on. In any case he could not have
got down to King's; if he had, he would have
been here.
By midnight the violence of the storm was
abating; long pauses came between those flickers
of white-hot light, the thunder comfortably
boomed instead of cracking, and the loud drumming of the rain subsided into a steady hiss. It
had become an ordinary storm again, the exhilaration and excitement of it had passed, and David
left his post of observation. He was beginning to
give up all hope of Frank's arrival to-night, and




206 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


that was a horribly depressing conclusion. All
day, and all through this wonderful storm, the
thought that he would be here this evening gave
spice to whatever happened.... There was the
supper on the table, on which by this time they
ought to have been feasting, but he had not the
slightest inclination to sup alone. Of course he
might get somebody to share it with him-Tommers, he knew, had come in, and, being now out of
training, would be pretty sure to be hungry. But
it would be a sad end for the cold asparagus and
the salmon and the chicken and the strawberry
mess, to be devoured by him and Tommers. It
would taste rotten; there would be no reason for
it. It might just as well stop there, and the more
perishable portions be cleared away in the morning. And he had chosen it with such greedy
care....
David yawned and stretched himself. He would
give Frank half an hour yet, and at the end of
that time would either go to bed, or summon
some esurient neighbour, who should not, however, have any champagne. So, feeling disappointed and dispirited, he lay down on his sofa
with his back to the light, and a book to help him
through the next half-hour. The book, which he
had taken at random from the table, did all and
more than he expected of it, for in three minutes
it had slipped from his hand, and he, weary with
excitement past and disappointment present, for
he no longer believed that Frank would come tonight, was sinking through the twilight of dozing
into sleep. His last thought was that he was quite
wide awake.
Half an hour later he became conscious that
there was a bare foot straight in front of him,
and drowsily wondered whose it was or what it




SECOND YEAR


207


was doing there. It was a large foot, and was
quite inexplicable. Then he emerged from sleep
just sufficiently to conclude that it was his own,
and that he was lying on his sofa in his sittingroom; memory awoke, and he was conscious that
he had been waiting for Frank. Some small noise,
he thought, had roused him, perhaps the slipping
of his book from his hand, for certainly the book
was no longer there. So Frank had not come,
and he would go to bed without getting Tommers
to share the consecrated banquet.
Then there dawned on him the sensation that
he was not alone, and he lifted his heavy eyelids
to see who had stolen in while he slept. Someone
was standing by the door.
David sprang off the sofa.
" Hullo!" he said.
"Hullo!" said Frank.
David stood on tiptoe, with arms outstretched,
and eyes from which all the heaviness of sleep
had vanished.
"Oh, Frank!" he said. "You old ass to steal
in like that! I wasn't asleep, was I? I was j-just
waiting for you. Supper! I ordered supper.
Let's have supper; I'm frightfully hungry."
"Ripping! So am I... David!"
"Yes?"
"Nothing-only David," he said.
"Same here. I say, it is you, isn't it?"
"No, it's Crowfoot."
"So it is. Sit down. I say, what an age you've
been away! And how awfully late you are now
you've come back! What happened?"
"There's been a bit of a thunderstorm. I
suppose you slept through it. Not a taxi to be
had at the station."




208 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"How did you get down? It's still pouring,
isn't it?"
"I walked. What was the use of waiting
there? I hadn't come back to Cambridge to see
the station."
David looked his face over.
"Black with Athenian sun!" he said. "Salmon? Oh, and asparagus. And luggage?"
"Yes. Salmon and asparagus. But no luggage. I'll get it in the morning if you'll lend
me pyjamas."
"Take them," said David. "Take anything
you like. How's Athens?"
"All right: and Cambridge?"
"Oh, doing nicely now," said David. "Fizz?"
"Just about. In a tumbler."
"I've masses to tell you," said David.
"Drive ahead. So have I."
David poured out two tumblers of champagne.
"I haven't got anything to tell you," he said,
"except that you have come back."
"I can't think of anything else," said Frank.
XII
FRANK had settled to take as the subject for his
Fellowship dissertation the Cult of Asclepius, and
David found it far more interesting than his own
work.... David had, as usual, brought his
books to Frank's room on this August morning
in the Long, and Frank had translated to him an
extremely funny scene from a play by Aristophanes, in which the blind god Plutus went to be
healed of his blindness in the sanctuary of the
god at Athens. There were very vulgar proceedings on the part of Plutus's slave; and when the
lights were put out, snakes came out of the sane



SECOND YEAR


209


tuary and licked Plutus's eyes and restored his
sight.
"And now get on with your own work," said
Frank, "and let me get on with mine.'
"But mine's so dull," said David. "It's about
Grimm's law, and yours is a sort of Grimm's
fairy-tale. Why can't I do yours and you mine? "
Frank was engaged in tracing a plan of the
precinct where these exciting things happened.
"Because you're not clever enough," he said.
"Don't jog the table, David."
David thought this over.
"If you tell me I'm not to, I shall have to,"
he said.
"Very well, do jog the table. I tell you to jog
the table. What a foul temper you're in!"
"I know I am," said David. "Do shut up and.
let me work. According to Grimm's law, you'll
be pleased to hear, any consonant in one language
can become any other consonant in any other, and
the vowels don't count. Thus aqua in Latin is
derived from the same root as water in English,
or that of any other word you please. I call it
childish."
David immersed himself in these futilities for
about ten minutes, then rose to the surface and
sighed heavily.
"I want a wife," he said, "and a pill."
"Well, take a wife and a pill," said Frank.
"Take whatever you like, only pass the ink over
here. "
David pushed the ink-bottle along the cloth, and
went back to his theme.
"You are like Crowfoot," he said. "Sufficient
ink can make you perfectly happy. But if one's
tummy's wrong one not only wants a pill, but
thinks that nobody loves one. That's why I want




210 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


a wife. If your tummy's right, you don't care
whether anybody loves you or not. If you're
quite well, that is to say, you don't really care
about anything else, but if you're chippy you
don't care about anything at all. It's all gastric
juices. Good stuff for a materialistic essay."
Frank finished, drawing a long line to indicate
a step.
"Why are you chippy?" he asked.
"Because I drank too much last night, if you
want to know," said David.
"Rot," said Frank.
David began to laugh.
"But I did," he said. "And that's why I
didn't come in to see you. I did it on purpose.
My new missionary stunt."
He got up and, standing in front of the lookingglass over the fireplace, put out his tongue.
"Colour of mortar," he said. "Would rouge
do any good?"
"Go on," said Frank.
"Well, you mustn't let him know I told you,"
said David, "but it was all along of Bags. Absolutely dead private, but I want your opinion."
"That means you want me to agree with you,"
said Frank.
"Yes, about that. Well, Bags has begun getting frightfully thirsty in the evening. He drinks
a whisky and soda with one hand, and while he's
drinking it, he pours out another with the other,
so as to be ready. And as soon as that's ready,
he drinks that, and so on, da capo, as they say in
my sonatas. I've told him of it before, and said
he was a guzzling swine, but he didn't pay the
slightest attention. So last night I said that I
should take drink for drink with him. It was his
whisky too, and Lord, it did sink in the bottle. I




SECOND YEAR


211


don't believe he means to drink exactly; he
doesn't crave, but he's just got into the habit of
swallowing when he's thinking of what card to
play next or what to talk about. He doesn't drink
when he's alone: he told me that. It's just a
sociable habit. And he must have got an awfully
strong head. We went on drinking away, and he
only became slightly mournful. But it was different with me. I hate whisky to begin with-it's
muck. I got extremely cheerful first of all, and
then I couldn't remember what I was going to
say, and then I was sick in Bags's slop-pail. He
hated that, and I'm sure I don't wonder."
"David, you ass," said Frank.
"I'm not so sure. May be true generally, but
not in this instance. He came round this morning to see how I was, and seemed rather sorry.
I told him I should be quite well enough to have
another jolly good booze with him to-night. I
say, how long does it take to get delirium tremens? And what happens then? Snakes isn't it,
like Asclepius?"
"Bags is a rotten ass," said Frank. "Does he
go messing about with girls still?"
"No, I don't think he does," said David.
"Pretty sure he doesn't in fact."
"And do you propose to get boozed every evening in order to be an object-lesson to Bags?"
asked Frank.
David cocked his head.
"Every evening?" he asked. "No, I don't; if
by every evening you mean lots of evenings.
Bags is an awful good chap, you know, though
you may not think it. And he hated seeing how
chippy I looked this morning in addition to my
being sick in his slop-pail. Anybody would hate
that. But I shall certainly go round and have a




212 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


drink with him to-night. Hang it all, one's got
to do something, you know, and it didn't make a
particle of difference my telling him that he was
a boozy swine. He thinks a lot of me reallythat's swank-only he didn't happen to care this
time."
"This time?" asked Frank.
"Yes, this time.  On this occasion," said
David with so much indifference in his voice that
anybody could see there had been another time.
However, as he so guilelessly intended it to appear that there had never been such a thing as
another time, Frank asked no further question.
Besides, David, after a final look at his tongue,
hurried to his seat and immersed himself in his
books.
The two were up for a month of the Long Vacation term, that pleasant, leisurely time which
relieves the excessive length of the Long Vacation. There were no lectures to attend or compositions to show up; not more than half the
College (reckoned either in terms of dons or
undergraduates) was in residence; you did exactly as much work as you felt inclined, dressed
in flannels when you got up in the morning, and
slacked about in a desultory manner. Frank was
busy enough over the arrangement and composition of his Asclepius work, and David, debarred
from the perusal and practice of English literature by his agreement with his father, had been
paying a most respectable deference to the dead
tongues. He had accepted the reason of his industry as an act of faith and of work; he had imbibed the dead languages like a medicine which
was to prove a tonic to his mind, which at present felt much the same as before. But he had
written a short "Hymn to Dead Languages"




SECOND YEAR                21
which went to a tune which he could play quite
fast, and began:
David, dost thou feel them,
How they work within?
For the rest, the hot weather had made Crowfoot's brain to seethe with unimaginable ingenuities, and presently A. G. would be back from
Zermatt, where he had been spending the day in
climbing inconspicuous summits and the evening
in close communion with exalted personages. At
the end of August David and Frank were going
down to Cornwall, which they hoped to reach on
bicycles, and spend the remainder of September
there, with the Dean's house as a base, and anything within reach as an objective. Just now
there was nothing very exciting on hand in the
way of games, since, as for tennis, who could be
strenuous in a closed stuffy court, with the thermometer in the eighties, and as for cricket, King's
could scarcely get a team together. A hustling
captain might have done something, but the whole
point of the Long was that you didn't hustle.
They worked on till one o'clock, and David ventured on a cigarette. He lit it, and instantly
threw it into the fireplace.
"Garbage," he said. "I wonder, is it worth
while being sick in the evening in order not to be
able to smoke in the morning? Did you ever get
drunk, Frank?"
"Yes, of course. But by accident."
He shut his books. He had not done much
Asclepius in this last hour, for his mind had been
occupied with David's ridiculous experiment. It
was just like him: "just a rag" he would have
called it, but quite serious in purpose, and some



214 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


how belonging, for all its foolishness, to the wise
private David.... That did not prevent Frank
from  strongly disapproving of it.  Probably
David would go his own way, and though you
might disapprove, you couldn't help either applauding or being amused. He was so gay when
he was thoroughly in earnest.
"But that ass Bags gets drunk on purpose,"
Frank said. "You've told him that he's a swine."
"Rather; he doesn't care an atom," said David.
"But he doesn't do it on purpose; you're wrong
there. If he did, he'd drink when he was alone.
He told me he didn't."
"That doesn't prove it."
David softly frowned over this.
"Well, you've got to believe what people tell
you sometimes," he said. "Otherwise you don't
get on. I believe what Bags says. There's the
whisky, and there's somebody to talk to, and they
go very well together. But if he doesn't take
care -"
He rapped on the table.
"I've got it," he said. "The Spartan gents
had slaves called Helots, and they used to make
them drunk in order to show their sons how putrid
drunken men were. That's what comes of studying Greek history. I was a Helot last night, and
I daresay I shall be one to-night. But Bags will
see pretty soon what an ass I look. He's just
rotting, that's all."
"Well, let him rot," said Frank.  "He's got a
perfect right to go to the devil if he likes."
"Oh, I doubt that," said David. "Old Bags,
you know. We used to keep stag-beetles together
at my private school. Besides, it's such a bore
for his friends."
"Well, it's a bore for me if you have to go and




SECOND YEAR


215


booze with Bags every night. And it's a bore for
you, if it comes to that."
"Must do something," said David. "Any decent chap would. And I can't think of anything
else. I'm just a Helot."
"Tell him you won't have anything to do with
him if he goes on boozing," said Frank.
"Oh, would that be any good? Don't think so.
Because I should go on being friends with him
anyhow. Besides, it's rather playing the heavy
father. I don't believe in heavy fathers. Helots
have a better chance. Besides, he won't like me
Helotting all over the shop. Let me alone,
Frank."
"But it's such mad stuff."
"Yes, it does seem rather mad," said David.
"But there's method you know... Anyhow it's
better than being pi'."
David strolled into Bags's rooms that night,
where he found Tommers, as if nothing whatever
had happened the evening before. Bags did not
seem particularly pleased to see him, but that
made no difference to the missionary.
"Hurrah, I ve found somebody at last," he
said. "Oh, and I've just heard from A. G. He's
found a Highness at Zermatt, a human one, I
mean, and not a mountain. And he's not coming
back till next week."
"Don't see the connexion," said Tommers with
irony.
"Of course you don't. There is none. Just
isolated facts. I say, wouldn't it be awfully jolly
to be a Highness and give so much pleasure? Are
there such things as Lownesses? Tommers, I believe you're a Lowness."




216 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"Why?" said Tommers, after trying to think
himself.
"Because you're filling up all the sofa. Lord!
what a fat thing! Shift a bit. Donnez-moi un peu
de sofere. Je veux coucher avec vous.... Oh no,
that's something else, isn't it? Je veux coucher
sur une piece de votre sofere.... What awful
piffle! Can't anybody else talk?"
" How much chance at present?" said Tommers.
"Well, then, let's play something. Let's play
cut-throat. Bags, may we play cut-throat?"
Bags was vexed. He had asked Tommers in to
play piquet. You always had another game of
piquet when you had finished one, and filled up
your glass. His vexation took the form of extreme politeness.
"By all means," he said. "That would be
delightful."
He put out the table and packs of cards, and
David instantly began to build card-houses.
"Bungalows of one story have become the
rage," he said. "They're the most satisfactory
to live in, because they don't fall down so often.
Crowfoot asked me this evening why we didn't
all live in bungalows."
"He didn't," said Tommers.
"Very well, he didn't. Towers, though architectually more interesting, have an evanescent
quality. They are here one minute and gone the
next. Blast! The persevering architect, however-     Sorry. I didn't know you were ready."
They played for a little while rather too politely
for real enjoyment, and with no other refreshment than that afforded by cards and cigars.
Bags, with the events of last night still rather
vivid, was intending for the present to produce no
whisky at all, but probably David would go and




SECOND YEAR


217


see Frank before long, and then he and Tommers
would play piquet with the usual accompaniment.
He didn't want to make David drink, but he was
rather wanting to do so himself, and he half
wished David would go. He had wholly wished
that David hadn't come, but now that he was here,
his inimitable futility and charm were beginning
to assert themselves, and Bags was already thinking less of the decanter and more of him. David
had grasped his psychological state with regard to
drink with great accuracy: he drank not in order
to make him enjoy himself, but because he was
enjoying himself. It was sociable and pleasantyou enjoyed yourself more.
Then a forfeit of four hundred points to each
side on Tommers's part helped things to thaw,
and the discomfited Tommers sought consolation.
"In the highest circles," he said, "a tray of
siphons and whisky often makes its appearance
about half past ten or so with or without a plate
of biscuits. In the slang of the day, it is called
a night-cap. Never mind the biscuits."
So the hospitable duty was clearly forced on the
Honourable Crabtree. Tommers took rather a
large night-cap, called in the slang of the day a
toothful.
"Whisky, David?" asked Bags.
"No, thanks," said David. He looked sideways
as he sorted his cards to see what Bags would
do... Tommers, of course, knew nothing of
previous events and present contingencies.
Bags clearly hesitated a moment, stopper in
hand. Then he poured a decent allowance into his
glass.
"I think I'll change my mind," said David.
"Little or lots?" asked Bags.
"Oh, just moderate," he said. "Same as yours.




218 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


My deal, wasn't it? Three no trumps. Not one
nor two, but three."
"Hog," said Tommers. "Pass."
Bags took a large mouthful of his mixture.
David permitted himself one disgusted glance at
him, and did the same. Then he became his silly
self again. He gathered up the trick he had just
won.
"I shall now play an ace," he said. "That's
the best thing to do, because otherwise it might be
trumped. Oh, I forgot, there are no trumps."
He covered up the ace with his hand.
"Did anyone see that ace?" he said. "Was it
exposed?"
"No, take it back," said Tommers.
David looked at him with a penetrating glance.
"Now, I wonder why you said that," he remarked. "Oh, I see! I'll play it. Come on, Tommers: out with the king, I'm sure you've got it
single. Oh, devilish cunning is Mr. Blaize, and a
silly ass is Tommers. If you had only said you
had seen the ace, I should have argued, and maintained it wasn't quitted, and not played it. As it
is —  Thank you. Sorry you have been troubled,
as the telephone young lady says. Been on the
conquest among the telephone young ladies, Crabtree? They wear green helmets, like divers in
deep waters, and they are older than the rocks
they sit among -"
"Crabtree's become a-a womanthrope," said
Tommers. "No-a misowench. There's not been
a fresh photo of ankles on his chimney-piece for
months."
"Youth is the seed-time of life," said David in
a hooting voice, conjectured to be meant for the
Provost's, "and so I counsel you all to sow your
wild oats in the days of your youth with no grudg



SECOND YEAR


219


ing hand. And now with one voice, or rather I
should say with a great many voices, let us sing,
'We plough the fields and scatter the oat's seed
on the land.' "
Bags out of mere inattention, had drunk the
rest of the whisky and would normally have got
up to replenish his glass, had he not seen David
instantly finish his, in order to keep level. He resented this. What earthly business had David to
interfere in his drinks? But again, what earthly
business had he to interfere in David's? There
was Tommers helping himself to more, and that
settled it. Bags would look after his own thirst;
if David didn't want any more he wouldn't have
any, and if he did, he would. That concerned
nobody but him.
Bags got up at the end of the deal, and poured
an extremely small dose into his glass.
"Jolly good whisky," said David. "Give me
a drop more, Bags."
"I thought you hated it," said Tommers.
"New stunt for you, isn't it?"
"Yes-acquired taste," said David. "Can't
think why I didn't take to it before. Wasted life.
Whose shout?"
Bag's second glass stood untasted before him;
so, too, did David's. It really was exasperating
to be controlled like this.... And yet Bags
couldn't call it control; he was perfectly at liberty
to drink this glass and as many more as he
pleased. But it would spoil his pleasure to see
David with a wry but cheerful face doing exactly
the same.
"Awfully jolly evenings at Zermatt," said
David. "Dear old Prince Boris Bumniowsky and
I are the greatest chums, and he told me stories
about his cousin the late Czar. Then every morn



220   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
ing we used to climb the Matterhorn together and
glissade down on our ice-axes, and-and play the
piano or dominoes, and yodel."
David was an inimitable imitator: he really not
only sounded but somehow looked like A. G. when
he mimicked him. He was killingly funny over it,
much funnier than he had been last night when he
kept forgetting what he meant to say and was
afterwards sick.... In consequence Bags only
took a sip of his second glass of whiskey, and as
David did not see him, he took a longer one. But
then even as David was making up and recounting
perfectly unrepeatable adventures of A. G. in
A. G'.s voice, he saw that Bags's glass was halfempty, and his own still full, and so he brought his
own down to the level of the other. He was not
being a bit heavy about it, but just drank, as part
of that ridiculous plan he had started, and went
on to say what had happened in that lonely Alpine
chalet on the glacier among the gentians.
It struck twelve; this was being a good evening
for David because he had hardly had to drink at
all, and bad for Bags because Tommers got up
and said he was off to bed.
"Twelve!" said David. "I shall go too. I say,
I am rich. Three and sixpence. Somebody will
want to marry me for my money."
"Don't go yet, Tommers," said Bags rather
exclusively. "Have another drink."
Tommers hesitated. Bags finished his second
glass, and David with a slight sigh did the same.
"Well, it must only be a thimbleful," said Tommers. "That's the smallest sort of night-cap.
The toothful, which is the size of the hole in a
man's tooth, is larger than a thimble."
David, already at the door, strolled back.
"There was a man once who never ate cherry



SECOND YEAR


221


tart, to which he was passionately devoted, because the stones stuck in his teeth," he said. "I've
forgotten his name."
"Blaize!" said Tommers.   "Thanks, Bags.
Woa! That's nearly a toothful."
David, with an engaging smile, watched Bags
playing about with the decanter-stopper.
"Another drink, David?" he said.
"I think I won't, thanks," he said. "But tomorrow night, let's meet in my rooms. I'll get a
fourth for bridge, and I'm not sure I won't give
you dinner first."
"Well, make up your mind whether you will or
not," said Tommers, and drank his toothful.
This offer was in the nature of a bribe. Bags
seemed to understand that, and put the stopper
back, thereby accepting it.
"I will," said David. "The dinner will be
cheap, but a hungry man would be glad of it. That
sort of dinner. And I'll win it all back at bridge
afterwards. Come on, Tomlin."
"Well, I've been waiting for you all this time,"
said Tommers.
David pinioned him from behind, and pushed
him out of the door.
"I'll give you to the bottom of the stairs, and
race you to your room," he said.
Tommers began majestically to go downstairs.
"Right," he said. "But give me time to get
down.,
Bags had joined him at the door.
"I wish you'd mind your own business, David,"
he said.
"I know; but I never could," said David. "And
I've had a jolly evening. Much better than last
night, because I've not been sick. Oh, thanks for
not having another drink just now. I thought




222 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


you were going to. Eight o'clock to-morrow,
then — "
"Ready," shouted Tommers from below.
"Off!" yelled David, and dashed down stairs
with the clatter of a cavalry squadron.
Bags sauntered back into his room, rather
regretting that he hadn't had many more drinks,
just in order to inconvenience David as a penalty
for his interference. Yet by his horrid cunning he
wasn't directly interfering with Bags at all. He
had every right to drink as much as Bags did; he
was only interfering with his own tastes in drinking what he called "that muck."  He hadn't
preached, he hadn't been in any way different
from what he ordinarily was, and if he chose (for
whatever reasons of his own) to drink precisely
as much as Bags, it was up to him to do so. Bags
thought of finishing the decanter all by himself
more for the pleasure of telling David so next day,
and thus scoring off him, but he didn't in the least
want it. The only point of such a proceeding
would be to thwart David, and it wasn't worth it.
Of course when David had told him that he drank
too much, the only proper proceeding was to take
no notice, and, if anything, to drink more, but this
new plan of David's was really a topper..
Again, another night, he might roundly tell David
that he was going to play piquet, or had got a four
for bridge, and that he wasn't wanted; but the
objection to that was that he would much sooner
spend the evening with David than with anybody
else. He saw comparatively little of him now that
Frank was up, and in whatever blasted missionary spirit David offered his company, he would
much sooner have it than not. And if David
was there, he really couldn't go on filling




SECOND YEAR


223


up and filling up, if David did the same...
Bags frowned at his own slowness of wit in
not being able to think of any suitable reprisal,
and went to bed reflecting that David seemed to
be cutting him off from all the pleasures of life,
and yet he himself found a good deal of amusement without them.
"Blast his eyes," thought Bags.... As he
turned over to go to sleep, he found himself grinning at the recollection of the firm fortitude of
David's face as he drank, and invented unspeakable adventures for A. G.
David, meantime, had been beaten on the post
by Tommers, and fell exhausted into his armchair.
"I got off badly," he said. "I should win if
we did it again."
"Come on," said Tommers.
"No, not to-night. It's late. It's always later
than I expect. How I wish the time wouldn't go
so quick! The whole caboodle goes too quick, you
know. Here am I at the end of my second year,
and you and Bags at the end of your third."
Tommers yawned.
"All quite true," he said. "But if you're going
to gas, I want to go to bed."
David had recovered his wind, and sat up.
"Oh, no, don't," he said. "I hate going to bed.
Dull. Are you coming up for another year?"
"No such luck, I'm going into the family business. Tea. There's a plantation somewhere in
India, chock full of cobras."
"You might send me a pound or two from time
to time," said David. "Not tea, of coursecobras. What rot it all is!"
"Oh, going out into the world," said Tommers,




224 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


correctly guessing. "Yes. Nobody is anybody
in the world, unless he's clever or rich or commits
a murder, and then he's not anybody for long.
We all fade away. It's only when you're at school
or up here that you're anybody special. There's
Bags: everybody knows who Bags is, and laughs.
But when his governor dies he won't be anybody
in the House of Lords."
"Rotten world," said David.
"Well, I didn't make it. Bags is stopping up
here another year, isn't he? I say, he didn't get
squiffy to-night."
"Bags squiffy?" asked David, as if such an
idea had never occurred to him.
"Yes.  He usually does," said Tommers.
"Drinks whisky till he's rather melancholy, and
then has some more.'"
David got up.
"I never saw Bags squiffy in my life," he said.
"And I should think I ought to know."
"I daresay you ought, but apparently you don't.
Rather a pity when a fellow begins doing that."
"Oh, don't talk such piffle," said David. "After
all, you had three drinks to-night, and Bags had
only two. Supposing I went about saying you
drank? I wish you wouldn't say such things,
Tommers. Somebody might believe them."
"Well, I bet you Bags gets squiffy to-morrow
night when we dine with you, if you give him a
fair chance."
"Done!" said David. "Half a crown?"
"Two."
"Very well, two. But if you're so certain you
ought to give me odds."
"All right, Shylock. Three to two," said Tommers. "But you've got to be awfully hospitable.
Drinks flowing."




SECOND YEAR


225


"Rather. But don't go about hinting that Bags
drinks. Why, I've known him since he was a
kid."
"Well, he's beginning to play the goat," said
Tommers.
David threw a cushion at him, ran upstairs, and
banged his door.
"Time I intervened," he said to himself.
David kicked off his shoes, slipped out of shirt
and trousers, and was ready to hop into bed almost
as soon as he arrived by his bedside. But the idea
of lying still, waiting for sleep to come, seemed a
hopeless business, for he did not want to lie still,
and he could not imagine going to sleep. Some
ferment was seething in his mind, which seemed to
pour restless vigour through his body, and he
strolled backwards and forwards from bedroom to
sitting-room, cursing the fact that it was night,
and there was nothing to do. He must occupy himself somehow, for to lie in bed, all charged with potential activity, meant that he would be unable not
to think and to want. Usually, by the time that
the pursuits and the diversions of the day were
over, it was easy enough to lie stretched and tranquil till sleep descended on him, but to-night he
was still bubbling with energy. Something had to
be done: to play his piano would be almost too
unpopular, to try to master the rest of Grimm's
ridiculous law would be futile, and he wanted
something more physically energetic than such
sedentary occupations. It was a mistake to have
raced Tommers down here; he should have gone
to Frank's room, who was always ready to sit up
till any hour, playing piquet or talking.
David had a bright idea. There was a silly
game, which could be played alone, of making the
circuit of your room by climbing over the furni



226 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


ture along the walls without setting foot on the
ground. It was a strenuous affair, taxing muscle
and ingenuity alike, and he thought it would just
suit his needs. He had played it in Frank's
room, but never in his own, and a cursory glance
round the walls made it appear feasible though
difficult.
He started by stepping on to a chair, and from
that climbing on to the piano which stood beside
it. The piano rocked slightly under him, because
one castor was off, but he made the traverse with
success and let himself carefully down on to the
chair on the farther side. Then came the door in
the angle of two walls, and beyond that the sofa.
It was a long stride from the chair, where he now
stood, on to the sofa, and he could not jump it,
because the chair would certainly tip up and land
him on the floor, but after several extensions of
his leg, he got one foot on the sofa while the other
remained on the chair. There for a moment he
stuck, like the Colossus of Rhodes, but by clawing
on to the arm of the sofa, he managed to draw his
second leg after him. The sofa, of course, was
easy walking, and from the farther arm of it he
got on to his book-case, and there he remained,
like a pelican in the wilderness, contemplating the
extremely mauvais pas on to the window-seat.
Already the game was becoming terribly important. "If I jump," thought David, "and land on
the window-seat, I shall probably crash through
the window, and then I shall never get round any
room any more."
He whistled "Keep thou my feet I do not ask
to see..." and the melody stimulated his brain.
He shifted his position, and kneeling down on the
edge of the book-case, put out a long leg backwards, feeling for the edge of the window-seat




SECOND YEAR


227


with his toes. He got one toe there, and then
couldn't shift his weight so as to disengage the
knee on which he knelt. His hot hands with which
he was clinging to the side of the book-case began
to slip.
"Death!" said David, in a loud sincere voice.
He clutched wildly at the lexicon that lay on the
top of the book-case, over which just now he had
climbed, and steadied himself. But his toe came
off the window-seat, and with his back to it he had
to fish for it again. It came into contact with the
electric switch, and put the light out.
"Well, it's easier climbing in the dark,"
thought the optimistic David, "because you don't
see the perils and the grim precipices around
you. "
Then quite suddenly he fell heavily to the
ground and bruised his knee and barked his shin.
He turned on the light, bound his leg up with a
wet handkerchief, and limped angrily to bed.
" Don't believe it's possible, " he said. " Rotten
game. Golly, how my knee hurts! I shall never
go to sleep."
In about three minutes he did so.
David was rather lame next day, but the dinner was a great success. There was bridge afterwards, followed by the University Indoor Athletic
Sports. Nobody else could get on to the windowseat from the book-case, and Tommers'couldn't
even get on to the piano.
That was satisfactory, and so were the three
half-crowns.








THIRD YEAR








Third Year
XIII
BAGS'S birthday feast for David had become as
firm an annual institution as Christmas Day, and
this year it was celebrated with peculiar magnificence, for David came of age. Since he had no
estates of any sort to step into, nor any tenants to
present him with the very smallest piece of plate,
it was clearly the part of a friend to console him
for this lamentable absence of revenues by all
possible sumptuousness. A. G., as usual, proposed his health, and returned thanks on his behalf; as usual, he forgot that he was speaking not
out of his own mouth but David's and indulged in
exotic theories and past purple memories of his
own of a highly incredible nature. Crowfoot had
been asked this year, and laughed in an unkind
and metallic manner when A. G. made David say
that he forgave the German Emperor. Frank,
who was going to spend another winter in Athens
for the completion of his Fellowship dissertation,
had put off his departure for three days in order
to be present, and a new circle of Bags's friends
came. These were rather grave people, who spoke
in a measured grammatical manner, for Bags had
completely deserted horsy circles, and was taking
great pains with his oratory, since, preceding his
ascent into the Hereditary Chamber, he was (it
was hoped) to represent a constituency in the
other house. His friends just now, therefore,
231




232 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


were very serious bloods, leading lights at the
Union and other debating societies, who always
said "and so forth," instead of "and that sort of
thing." But they became more accessible as the
evening went on, and the porter found a bowler
hat on Henry VI's statue in the centre of the
fountain next morning. Also a loud splash, possibly connected with this, had been heard by the
studious and the wakeful about 2 a.m.
Bags had lately stood for the Presidency of the
Union, and had suffered so colossal a defeat that
for a while it was wiser not to mention any high
numerals at all in casual conversation.... After
this greater Waterloo, Bags had shaken off the
dust of that democratic assembly, and chiefly exercised his debating powers in the Sanhedrin, a
small, very select, and very serious body of orators, consisting of a dozen members from Third
Trinity and King's. For a year past Bags had
never missed a meeting of the Sanhedrin, nor
failed to speak at it, and at the beginning of this
term he had been elected President, the duties of
which office he discharged with impartial and laborious suavity. Shortly after there was to be an
election of three new members to fill the vacancies
of those who had gone down, and Bags had been
persuading David to let himself be proposed as a
candidate. Bags himself spoke rather well; he
spoke at any rate with fluency and grammar,
never forgetting his main topics, and David's entire inability to string together half a dozen consecutive sentences on any formal occasion seemed
to be a strong reason for his joining the Sanhedrin.
Bags was quite impressive on the subject.
"It's part of an intellectual training for everyone to be able to speak," he said, "and you really
ought to learn. It's not only necessary for people




THIRD YEAR


233


whose whole career will depend on their speaking —
"Honourable Crabtree, M.P.," said David.
Bags was a shade pompous occasionally, and he
went on as if this interruption had not occurred.
"-but for everybody. It is as ludicrous for a
man to call himself educated if he can't speak, as
it would be if he couldn't read. Indeed I am inclined to think ""But I never did call myself educated," said
David. " Never. "
Bags pointed a forensic forefinger.
"I am inclined to think that the man who can't
express his ideas in decent if not flowing language
has even less claim to be considered educated than
one who with an open book in front of him is
unable to read it."
"If you don't stop making speeches," said
David loudly, "in indecently flowing language,
I've got an open book here, and I shall throw it
at you. The man who is always talking as if he
was making a speech is worse than uneducated:
he's a bore."
Bags lowered his forefinger.
"Well, I want to put you up for the Sanhedrin,"
he said. "It's awfully good training. You've got
to arrange your thoughts clearly and express
them decently, or no one listens to you. It isn't
enough just to blurt out anything that comes into
your head as they do at the Union."
David's chair creaked slightly, but it wouldn't
do to laugh. It was a very short time ago that
Bags had said that the only real training was the
rough-and-tumble of the Union. But that was
before he had failed to become the President of it,
and had succeeded in becoming the President of




234  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
the Sanhedrin. Naturally that made a lot of
difference.
"And you don't know," continued Bags, "what
a sense of mastery it gives you-no, not mastery
exactly-what    "
"'How ripping it feels,' is what you mean,"
said David.
"Well, that may pass-how ripping it feels to
know that you are speaking to a dozen fellows, all
critical and eager to pick holes in your arguments,
whom you are forcing by mere logic and lucid
exposition and so forth to agree with you. Your
job is to make them think with your mind, and
see from your point of view. By degrees you
learn to get confidence, and know that you'll hold
them. And it gives you quickness in repartee,
and in finding the telling phrase. I don't mean
of course that you're slow.... But it would do
you no end of good."
"But what's the good of putting me up?" said
David. "Of course they'll blackball me, if they've
any sense. All those who were at my birthday
dinner know I can't speak at all, and even if they
didn't they'd soon find out. Of course they'll pill
me."
Bags became a shade sublime.
"As for that, the President's candidate starts
with a good bit in his favour," he said. "And
you only want practice. You've got quite a decent
voice - "
"Valuable member of Crowfoot's glee-club,"
said David. "Well, I don't mind: you can put me
up if you like. If I'm pilled, it's your fault."
"Not much chance of that," said Bags loftily.
But the incredible occurred, and in spite of his
august proposer, the President had to announce




THIRD YEAR


235


to David that the election had taken place and
that out of the four candidates proposed, he was
the only one who had not been elected. The matter had been talked out before the ballot was held,
and several out of the nine members of whom the
Sanhedrin at the moment consisted expressed the
hope that the President would withdraw his candidate's name on the ground that the Sanhedrin was
a debating society and David could no more speak
than he could fly. They all knew David, and
wished it to be understood that there was nothing
personal intended, for there wasn't a nicer fellow
in the world. But where was the use of a dumb
member?
"But he'll soon learn to speak," said Bags.
The leader of the opposition submitted that the
sooner he learned to speak the better. He could
come up for election then. Wouldn't the President withdraw his candidate, for no one wanted
to blackball him?
The President wouldn't, and the ballot took
place. It showed three votes for David, and six
against him, and Bags threatened to resign, but
was quite easily persuaded to refrain from so extreme a step. The other elections were then proceeded with, and out of this exiguous egg of a
situation there hatched the Great Rag, compared
to which all previous rags had been "but a fleabite in the ocean."  (This fine and expressive
simile came out in a thoughtful article on the
Great Rag in the Cambridge Review).
The first fecund factor in the Great Rag was the
illimitable fury, chagrin, and humiliation of Bags
when the Presidential candidate was blackballed.
He had told David so plainly that his election was
a certainty owing to the office and prestige of his
proposer, and now he had to tell him that the only




236 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
certainty left was that he had been rejected.
David observed that Bags had made a big fool
of himself, and a smaller fool of him, but otherwise
showed no spirit. He was really rather relieved
than not.
"But I'll make them    sorry," said Bags.
"You'll be a member of the Sanhedrin before the
term's over. Blasted cheek! I'll teach them."
"How?" asked David.
"I don't know yet. But there's some way.
You'll help, won't you, if you're needed?"
"As long as I don't have to speak," said David.
"Go away and teach them. I want to work."
The second factor was that the month was November, that there wasn't much going on, and a
quantity of energetic young gentlemen pined for
excitement. Bag's fury therefore fell on fruitful
ground.
The third factor was that the members of the
Sanhedrin were sharply divided on the question
of David's rejection. Their debates lately had
been very dull and academic, and this question
interested them much more than German reparations and Colonial policy.... And so it all began.
The leader of the opposition to David's membership was a cheerful creature called Malcolm, a
personal friend of David's and a Trinity undergraduate. He had been disappointed in not having been elected President instead of Bags, was
delighted to have scored off the President, and
rightly supposed that David didn't mind. As
Secretary he strolled round next morning to inform the three newly-elected members, Hales,
Morrison, and Steel, of the honour that the Sanhedrin had conferred on them. He took with him
formal notices of their election. He visited Hales
and Morrison first, and communicated the gratify



THIRD YEAR


237


ing intelligence. Both of them in casual conversation informed him that they were going to lunch
in King's with Bags, who had come round in person to deliver the invitation. Slightly perturbed
and suspicious (though, after all, why shouldn't
the President ask the new members to lunch?), he
trotted round to King's, to which college Steel belonged, and found Bags in his rooms. The earnest
conversation that seemed to be going on ceased
abruptly, as he entered.
Malcolm announced his gratifying intelligence,
and Steel said, "Thanks awfully." Then, as nobody seemed to have anything else to say, and as
David's rooms were quite close, Malcolm thought
he would look in and explain how far from personal had been his motive in this disturbing
matter.
David was quite charming about it, but seemed
amused. Before Malcolm left, there came shouts
of "Blaizes, are you in?" from the court outside,
and David yelled that he was. Rapid steps came
up the stairs, and Bags and Steel came bounding
into the room. Amid faint grins and much politeness, Malcolm then took his departure. The faint
grins seemed to be succeeded by loud laughter as
he walked thoughtfully downstairs.
Something was certainly a-foot-anyone could
see that-but it was impossible to conjecture what
it was. The impression was confirmed, though no
light was shed on the nature of it, by a note from
Bags which reached Malcolm late in the day, saying that by virtue of his Presidential office (see
Rule 6), he summoned an extraordinary general
meeting of the Sanhedrin to take place in his
rooms at 8.30 p.m., the next evening, when he
would have the honour of laying a motion before
them, the importance of which seemed to him to




238 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


warrant this urgency.  Would the Secretary
therefore kindly give notice of this meeting to
those members of the Sanhedrin who had not yet
been informed of it? The new members, Hales,
Morrison, and Steel, had already been communicated with.
The cautious Secretary first turned up the book
of the rules of the Society. He found that though
the President was right with regard to his power
of summoning an emergency meeting, the President was powerfully wrong if he thought he could
bring forward and take a vote on any motion
without giving notice of it. He therefore wrote
the required notices with much cheerfulness, for
whatever motion Bags intended to put forward,
it could not possibly be voted on at that meeting.
There could be no possible doubt that the object
of Bags's motion, whatever it might be, was to
get David into the Sanhedrin, and it was pleasant
to find that the President didn't know the rules.
As he didn't know the rules either, Malcolm sat
down and studied them for ten minutes. This
perusal made him acquainted with the fact that
if the President summoned an emergency meeting, any member might at that meeting give notice of any other motion. And then (oh, delightful discovery!) he found that, by Rule 22, no gentleman who had been proposed as a member and
been blackballed was eligible for election within
a year. Thereupon he danced round the room,
and hurriedly went to inform some of those who,
beside himself, had blackballed David that there
was something going forward. Bags and those
whom he had clearly suborned (the new members)
probably knew what Bags's motion was.
Evans, who had been a strong anti-Davidite,




THIRD YEAR


239


was charmed with the idea of there being something stirring in view.
"It'll wake up the Sanhedrin a bit," he said,
"whatever it is. Who wants to go on debating
about Greece and Reparations?"
"Looks rather like a rag," said Malcolm. "Of
course Bags wants to extend the membership or
something, and then propose David again. He
can't do that without increasing the membership,
as we're limited to twelve. If he has tampered
with the three new Johnnies, you see, he thinks
he can outvote us. So he can. We were six
against David, and he was three for him. Three
more makes six, and as President he has the
casting-vote. We'll let him do all that, and then
when he proposes David, we'll gently point out
that a blackballed candidate isn't eligible for
election again for a year. Sucks for Bags!"
It certainly did seem sucks for Bags and they
gloated over it. With this unshakable knowledge
of rules behind them, there really seemed very
little to fear from any manoeuvres of the enemy.
"But it's best to be cautious," said Evans.
"It's clear that Bags can carry, not at this meeting but at a subsequent one, an extension of the
membership, and we ought to have a candidate."
Malcolm jumped up.
"I've got it," he said. "Look here! Bags will
propose an extension of membership and at the
next meeting he'll carry it. But then we've got
the right to bring forward another motion, and I'll
propose that Carslake be elected. Captain of the
Cambridge Boat Club, you know. Rather a smart
candidate. Then Bags will propose David."
He paused a moment deep in thought, and then
shouted with exultation.
"It's all right," he said. "Listen! Bags will




240 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


propose an extension of one to the membersnip,
and he'll carry it. Then he'll propose David and
get him elected. Then I shall propose Carslake,
and Bags will say there isn't a vacancy. But I
shall say that my motion must be voted on, and
since there isn't a vacancy, I bet Bags will vote
for him sarcastic-like, and probably the others as
well. Then, oh then, and not till then, will I point
out that David isn't eligible for election, and that
therefore there is a vacancy. And Carslake,
whom they've just elected, will be a member."
"Golly! It's great!" said Evans. "Let's go
through it all again to see there's no hitch, and
then I'll run round and tell Carslake."
The meeting next night duly assembled in
Bags's rooms. The preliminaries were very
polite and calm, and Bags brought forward the
expected motion that one more member should be
elected. Malcolm thereupon turned gently over
the leaves of the book of rules, and rattled his
pencil-case between his teeth.
"Rather a hitch, I'm afraid, Mr. President,"
he said regretfully. "Rule 9 states that if the
President summons an emergency meeting, he
can only give notice of his motion, which must be
voted on at a subsequent meeting."
Bags's party exchanged little smiles. Someone had discovered this after Bags's notice for
the emergency meeting was sent out, and the point
was quite provided for.
Bags assumed his most suave air.
"Perhaps you would kindly allow me the ear
of the house for a moment, Mr. Secretary," he
said. "My motion, which I had not quite finished,
is that the membership of the Society be increased
by one, and that Mr. David Blaize of King's be
elected. As for your point about the inadmissi



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241


bility of voting on my motion at this meeting, I
summon another meeting in precisely two minutes
from now, in the same place. The meeting is
adjourned."
"Oh, excuse me, it isn't anything of the sort,"
said Malcolm. "With all respect, of course, and
so forth. But before you're in such a hurry to
put the adjournment, I wish to take advantage of
Rule 8 which, in case you haven't read it, provides that at an emergency meeting, any member
may put forward, for subsequent voting, any
other motion. I put forward the motion, seconded
by Mr. Evans, that Mr. Leonard Carslake be
elected a member of the Sanhedrin. I needn't talk
much about him; he's Captain of the University
Boat Club, and so forth, and it is generally agreed
that, unlike other gentlemen who have been proposed for the Society, he has a very copious flow
of language and a striking power of expressing
himself with great lucidity. Anyone who has ever
been on the tow-path knows that."
"I suppose that Mr. Carslake has expressed his
willingness to stand for election," said Bags.
"Rather. Unlike-    Well, never mind that.
But he was most keen on it. You can bet your
boots on that!"
This colloquialism was a happy inspiration.
Bags was standing in front of the fire and his feet
were shod in gay morocco slippers. Malcolm
looked pointedly at them as he spoke, and the
Sanhedrin gently rippled.
Bags sat down in his chair and put his feet
under the table.
"I think I am right in saying that the President's motion needs no seconder," he said.
"Quite," said Malcolm.
"So if that's all, the meeting is adjourned,"




242  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
said Bags, "though not sine die at all. Now we'll
have another meeting. Minutes, please, Mr. Secretary. "
"Well, give me a moment: I must write them
before I read them," said Mr. Secretary.
Malcolm hurriedly scribbled the minutes of the
last meeting, including his own remarks about the
President's boots. He read them out, and Bags,
with a broad grin, ascertained the pleasure of the
meeting that he should sign them.
"The first business before this second emergency meeting," he said, "is my own motion that
the membership of this Society be increased by
one, and that Mr. David Blaize of King's be
elected to fill it. I don't think he needs any
panegyric of mine ---"
"Paregoric, did you say?" asked Malcolm, who
was busily scribbling.
The Sanhedrin applauded. This was all much
better than talking about Colonial policy.
" 'Panegyric' was the word I used," said Bags.
"The subject of my motion does not, I was saying, need any pare-panegyric from me. The
ballot-box, Mr. Secretary."
It was deferentially pointed out that the President's motion was really two motions. David
could not be elected unless the first motion regarding the increase in the number of members
was carried. The entire Sanhedrin voted for it.
Then the vote was taken with regard to David's
election, and the ballot-box was found to contain
six black balls, and six votes in his favour. The
President gave his casting vote for Mr. Blaize of
King's.
"Mr. David Blaize is therefore elected a member of the Sanhedrin," he said. "The meeting
is




THIRD YEAR


243


Malcolm did not wink at anybody.
"With lots more respect, Mr. President," he
said, "the meeting is not adjourned. My motion
as well as yours is before the house. Proposed by
the Hon. Secretary and seconded by Mr. Evans,
that Mr. Leonard Carslake of Trinity be elected a
member of the Sanhedrin."
"But there's no vacancy," said Bags. "He
can't be elected. The meeting-  "
"No, it isn't," said Malcolm. "My motion is
before the house, and it must be voted on."
Bags became immensely suave again, and very
judicial.
"Strictly speaking, Mr. Secretary," he said,
"I'm not sure that your motion is in order. It
implies, if I may so word it, an inherent impossibility. There is no vacancy in our numbers,
you see. Your motion is ipso facto nugatory. On
the other hand, your motion was duly proposed
and seconded, and so I shall be delighted to waive
my objection. I need hardly say what an ornament we shall all feel Mr. Carslake would be to our
Society, if it was only in our power to elect him.
Let us by all means vote on your motion. I see
so many consenting faces round me in favour of
Mr. Carslake that I think we need hardly use the
ballot-box. If those who are in favour would
hold up their hands-  Yes: unanimous. Let us
by all means, without the tedious process of the
ballot-box and so forth, elect Mr. Carslake. The
only hitch is that there is no vacancy. Perhaps
you would kindly inform Mr. Carslake of his
unanimous election, and the sad fact that he is not
a member of the Sanhedrin. The meeting — "
The Secretary interrupted.
"Rule 22," he said, "on the last page. I will
read it. 'No gentleman who has been blackballed




244 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


for membership shall be eligible to come up again
for election within the period of one year (twelve
calendar months) from the date of his previous
candidature.' "
He paused a moment.
"With all respect, Mr. President," he said, "I
draw your attention to the fact that the election of
Mr. David Blaize of King's is therefore invalid.
There is then a vacancy in our numbers, to which
Mr. Carslake of Trinity has been unanimously
elected. Rather neat."
The smile was struck from the President's face,
and the suavity from his manner.
"I'll have a squint at that rule," he said, holding out his hand.
"Oh, why squint?" said the Secretary.
The President squinted and said "Blast," then
immediately recalled this unparliamentary expression.
"The meeting is adjourned," he said. "And
will everybody who voted for David just now
stop behind a minute? I hope you'll all take
drinks first, or anything you want; and then will
the others clear out, as the meeting is adjourned?
Excuse me a second."
Bags bustled into his bedroom, and shut the
door. Malcolm had a brilliant, beautiful brainwave.
"I bet you David's in there," he said. "Bags
meant to produce him all smiles and triumph.
There's another door out on to the landing. Go
and hold it, Evans. Quick. Grasp the handle
tight, so that it can't be turned. Lord! The
rag's beginning!"
Evans slid from the room, and almost immediately afterwards Bags returned, again closing




THIRD YEAR


245


the door into his bedroom. He looked slightly
agitated.
"May I just wash my hands in your bedroom.?"
asked Malcolm politely. "I've got some ink on
them from those minutes you made me write so
quickly."
Bags had no hesitation. He had told David to
get away out of the other door, and come back for
conference after the enemy had gone.... David
had called him an ass with uncommon fervour.... But he would have got away by this time;
he only had to step out.
"Rather," said Bags. "You'll find everything.
Malcolm walked through, leaving the door open.
There was David madly struggling with the
handle of the other door.
"Hullo, David," he said cheerfully. "Come in;
the meeting's adjourned. Been sitting here all
this time? There's been a bit of a hitch in your
election again. Bad luck. Won't that other door
open? "
David abandoned the hopeless attempt on the
handle and walked into the room where the Sanhedrin were still assembled. He was extremely
cross, and the red light of battle was in his eye.
The others finished their drinks and said polite
"good nights." There was a sound of merry
laughter on the stairs.
"L-look here,' said David. "You've all made
a fool of me. What's happened?"
Bags explained the direful situation.
"I'm awfully sorry, David," he wound up.
"I hope you are," said David. "You're an old
ass, as I told you in there. Fancy a President not
knowing the rules of his beastly society."




246 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


He looked round on the other dejected faces, and
his eye began to twinkle.
"I say, we're measly conspirators," he said.
"It's all our faults really. But I suffer most.
Something must be done; we can't sit down under
this. There was I in your fuggy bedroom, Bags,
waiting to be brought in like a blushing bride. 0
Lord, how funny, though! I was sweating away
to get out of the other door, and somebody must
have been holding the handle. Jolly smart to
think of that! Now let's have a look at that
beastly book of rules. No one seems to know anything about them, except Malcolm.  Chuck it
over here. '
He studied them with growing gloom.
"Seems to me we're done," he said. "The
Malcolmites are seven now with Carslake. I vote
we put Bags in the fountain. Hi! wait a minute."
David gave a loud cackle.
"I say, something might be done with this," he
said. "I can't say what, but something. Listen!
Rule 17. 'No member who has not paid his subscription shall be entitled to vote at any meeting.'
Well, Carslake can't have paid his subscription
yet. Therefore he can't vote. That's something.
Thin end of some kind of wedge, perhaps. Lord,
I'm going to take a hand, as you're all such
poops."
"Oh, David, how sharp you are," said Bags
sycophantically. "I say, you chaps, Hales, Morrison, and Steel, do you mind paying your subscriptions at once? Otherwise you won't have
any vote. Only ten bob. Kemp's Treasurerisn't that luck?"
"Haven't got a bob," said Morrison.
"Oh, well, I'll pay for you. There you are,
Kemp. Send receipts to-morrow. Now let's




THIRD YEAR


247


think. What can we do with that ripping notion
of David's? We shall be a majority at the next
meeting. We might abolish the rule about a
blackballed candidate not being eligible for
another year."
"On which Carslake will pay his subscription
and you'll be no forrader," said David.
"But the motion will be carried before Carslake
pays," said Bags.
"No earthly use, fiddling about like that," said
David. "Something more drastic; less red-tape;
bolder lines."
Bags had found some more copies of the rules,
and they all sat round the table, feverishly studying. There was a rag somewhere in the air, if it
could only be localised. And then Bags-it was
only fair after his blunders and messings-made
the Great Discovery.
"Rule 5," he shrieked. "There's more than
meets the eye. 'The President shall be elected
by the votes of the members. In case of even
voting, the ex-President, if not standing for reelection, shall have the casting-vote.' "
"Well, what's there to be excited about?" said
David.
"Don't you see? It only says that the President shall be elected by the vote of the members.
It doesn't say that he need previously have been
a member of the Sanhedrin at all. I'll resign, so
as to get the casting vote, and propose David.
Not as just a member any longer, thanks awfully,
but President."
At first sight the discovery looked as simple as
it was certainly stupendous. At the next meeting
(emergency) Bags would tender his resignation
and propose David as President. Another emergency meeting would then instantly follow, and




248 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


on the voting taking place, the Malcolmites would
be faced with the staggering information that
Carslake had not yet paid his subscription and
was therefore ineligible to vote. The ex-President's casting vote would be exercised, and David
elected.
"But it's too simple, it's too priceless, it's too
holy," said David. "Such things don't happen.
There's sure to be a snag somewhere. Let's all
mug up these rules for ten minutes."
Long before ten minutes were up the snag was
discovered. For (Rule 19) "a due and reasonable
time shall elapse between the nomination and
election of a new President, for the nomination
of any other candidates whom- "
That was enough.
"And you bet they'll do that," said David.
All thought of the interests and well-being, indeed even of the existence of that small and select
debating society called the Sanhedrin was now
rapidly vanishing. A great and glorious Rag
(though no one yet guessed the magnificence of
it) was swiftly flowering and the Sanhedrin was
no more than the soil out of which it sprang.... Any old soil would do. At the next emergency meeting Bags's resignation of the Presidentship was announced amid loud applause, and
David's candidature for the vacant post put forward. It occurred to nobody (all would have
scorned the action) to find any pettifogging objection to it; Rule 19, which allowed time for the
nomination of another candidate. was all that
heart could desire. The very next day the Malcolmites nominated their opposition candidate,
carefully selected for purpose of scorn and
derision. His name was Sawle, and nobody had
ever heard of him. But fierce light now beat upon




THIRD YEAR


249


him and he was discovered to be a medical student
in an obscure college who collected butterflies, and
who pined (no longer in vain) for notoriety. He
was in his third year, wore spectacles, and was an
atheist and a teetotaller. Anybody, such was the
purport of their derision, was a good enough
candidate to run against Blaize of King's. Another reason, no doubt, for his selection was his
patronymic, for David (as he was more generally
known) and Sawle were a first-rate pair of names
for electioneering purposes.
The membership of the Sanhedrin was at once
indefinitely extended by the consent of all parties,
and the ballot abolished, for members were the
first essential in a rag. The University eleven
were elected en bloc, in David's interests, the
Malcolmites retorted by electing the Rugby team,
and Carslake let it be understood that any rowing
man would be welcomed as a member of the Sanhedrin. Then things expanded a bit: the whole
of King's joined, and the greater part of Trinity.
No date was yet fixed for the election; that could
not be done till the rag had developed its full
horse-power.
The subscription was reduced from ten shillings
to half a crown and money poured in, for this was
a very cheap price for so much pleasure, and accounts were opened at Barclay's Bank and the
London & County. All this money, of course, was
to be devoted to electioneering purposes, and the
agents got busy. An army of small boys was
provided with pieces of chalk, and engaged to
write up "Vote for Blaize" on every pavingstone and every wall in Cambridge. Another
army was therefore conscripted, and provided
with more chalk and wet rags, with the latter of
which they expunged the word "Blaize," and




250 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


with the former of which they substituted the
word " Sawle." Then posters (a more permanent
decoration, because they could be affixed to places
out of reach of the chalk-and-rag brigade) made
their appearance in startling colours and Cambridge was asked"What about Sawle?
Oh, go to Blazes."
"Sawle and the Salvation of your Souls" was
the counter-cry next day; and presently Cambridge was invited to cleanse itself as by fire and
vote for Blazes.
Then the cartoonists got busy, and a remarkable
picture appeared with the legend"Sawle has slain his thousands, and David his
ten thousands."
On one half of it was depicted a diminutive
Sawle, catching and trampling on enormous butterfiies, on the other David smoking Perpetua, and
rows of undergraduates in caps and gowns falling
dead as they came within that poisonous reek.
Then there was David sitting at his piano, playing
"Once in royal David's city," and Sawle consulting the witch of Endor on his chances of
success.
Then, on the appearance of a slightly offensive
cartoon, concerning Sawle's private life, and the
natural rejoinder about Bathsheba, it was mutually agreed that cartoonists should confine themselves to the glory of their own candidate, and not
pour ribald obloquy on the opposition. No funds
could possibly run to the production of all the
awful things you could invent about your opponent, and it showed a livelier imagination to praise
your own candidate (especially if he was Sawle).




THIRD YEAR


251


A poster therefore (nearly complete) of David as
the original D(r)avidian Swine was scrapped, and
so was one of him and Bags looking through a
magnifying-glass at Sawle, and saying, "Which
way up is it?"
Thus a rumour spread like wildfire about Cambridge that there was a plot on foot to kidnap
Sawle and immure him in King's, which of course
was David's stronghold. Sawle was therefore
provided with a stalwart bodyguard chiefly consisting of Rugby blues. David scorned to have
one, until one day, on his way to a lecture, he met
Sawle and his body-guard in the Senate House
passage, and being thoroughly frightened, distanced them easily in his mad flight back to
King's, but was late for his lecture in consequence.
He therefore lodged a complaint with his committee about personal inconvenience, and by mutual consent of the two parties it was declared in
a joint proclamation which peppered Cambridge
next day that the persons of the rival candidates
were sacrosanct. You might not even say rude
things to them as you passed, but must try to behave like a gentleman, however difficult and novel
this task was. The penalty for transgressing this
statute was to be paraded through the streets
with a placard on the back "I am unclean" and
to be cast into the fountain at King's for
purification.
At this point the University authorities thought
it wise to give a word of warning, and intimated
that in case of any serious disturbance such as
fireworks, fights, or bonfires, those concerned
should be immediately sent down. This caused
an interlude in the serious business of the election, and the two committees jointly consulted as
to what was the proper course. They settled that




252   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
a rocket should be discharged on the front lawn
at King's as a test-case, and when the Dean desired to see the perpetrator of the outrage, the
whole college, except David, attended en bloc, and
said they had all done it. It was impossible to send
the whole College down with the exception of
David, who was the cause of the whole rag, and
the Dean (not very cleverly) sent for him, and
told him that if any fireworks, fights, or bonfires
occurred, he would be sent down. David, previously advised, pointed out that the age of perfectly innocent scapegoats was over. He had had
nothing whatever to do with that rocket, and he
had no intention of sending up others, fighting, or
lighting bonfires.... The authorities, therefore,
took further counsel together, and came to the
conclusion that as there was a good deal of steampressure about, it would be wise not to sit on
safety-valves. "Let the laddies have their lark,"
said Mr. Mackintosh on this occasion. "They
won't do any harm if we don't seek to interfe —er
with them. '
David hitherto had refused to address his supporters (though his ingenuity in electioneering
devices was admirable), whereas Sawle was never
silent. Sawle 's speeches, from the Davidian
standpoint, did no harm, because nobody could
hear what he said; still, Sawle was always making public appearances, and David's silence, in
Bags's opinion, was a pity. He therefore induced
David to appear one evening at the window of
his committee-rooms three stories up, in King's
Parade, and make gestures and mouthings, while
Steel, who had the loudest voice ever known,
would be concealed behind the curtain close to him,
and bawl out a tremendous fighting speech which
Bags had composed. The Sawlites, therefore,




THIRD YEAR


253


knowing that David was to speak from his committee-room, arranged a simultaneous meeting on
the pavement directly opposite, at which Sawle
should speak for as long (if not longer) as David
did. But Steel's voice, even from the third floor,
entirely drowned the other speaker (who was
always inaudible), and all went well till it was
clearly observed that though David paused to
drink a glass of water, his voice boomed resonantly on.... Loud hoots and shouts of "David
the dumb," and roars of laughter.... It was
impossible to proceed, and David gave a sort of
Apostolic Benediction with two fingers raised, and
the police cleared the obstructed roadway.
Next Sunday the preacher of the University
sermon was gratified (though not surprised) to
observe the impression caused by his eloquent
peroration. When in an echoing ecclesiastical
voice he thundered forth the words "Torn as we
are, in these unhappy controversial days, by discordant interests, by loud-mouthed competitors,
by warring factions, we are often fain to murmur
the words of David, the sweet psalmist, and say
'Oh for the wings of a dove, that I might fly
away.."' a palpable stir went through his
congregation, and you couldn't possibly have
heard a pin drop. There were found some so infidel as to doubt whether the preacher actually
meant to allude to the only subject which was of
any interest (the rest of his sermon was not), but
it was made very clear how dangerous the growing
excitement was considered by truly reflective
minds, in an article which appeared next week in
the Cambridge Review entitled "Collective Emotion." It contained the simile already quoted
about the flea-bite in the ocean, and began almost




254   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
playfully (for the Cambridge Review) recalling to its readers' minds how, if anyone begins
coughing in church the infection spreads, until
the whole congregation is a-whoop.   But it
got very serious later on, and talked of "the desecration of academic tranquillity and studious
shades by the introduction of rivalries, which, if
innocent at first, are prone to flower into the blossom of unbridled passion." The "sweet psalmist" always denied having written this remarkable piece, so it may still be hoped that it was a
genuine expression of the editor's mind.
For three full weeks (and a lot can be got into
a week) the excitement waxed, and as the day of
the election approached there was scarcely to be
seen in all Cambridge a single undergraduate who
did not wear the colours of one of the candidates.
Bags went so far as to purchase a large flannel
ulster in orange and blue stripes, and wore it
continuously till it was torn off his back on a
dark night, as he returned from a dinner at the
Athenaeum rooms, by several masked villains with
purple and green rosettes. The infection even
spread to the sprightlier dons, and on the day
before the poll, A. G., who thought that no pie
was a true pie unless his finger was in it, made a
speech entirely about himself, in the market-place,
in support of David.
But he had better not have done that, for the
rag was an undergraduate rag, and his speech was
marred by a small but sturdy group of rowingmen who chanted "Ha! ha! awfully jolly!" in
monotonous but loud voices at frequent intervals.... This meeting was attended also by a correspondent of a leading London paper (so wide was
the interest in the election), who was instantly
taken in hand by Steel and Bags (an intelligent




THIRD YEAR


255


glance only having passed between them) and
given a mine of amazing information. They took
him to such a position that he could get an excellent snapshot of Mr. Gray, whom they told him
was David Blaize, addressing a mixed meeting,
and the captain of the University eleven who was
standing by was kind enough to remain quite still
while a photograph of Sawle was taken. They explained that though A. G. looked rather old for an
undergraduate, that was due to the fatigue of the
election; his hair had come off after an attack of
typhoid.... They then went for a little walk
with him and pointed out the University Church
as being worth photographing as King's College
Chapel; also the Senate House which was the
official residence of the Vice-Chancellor. Bags
then gave him a nice lunch in his rooms in Corpus
Christi College, and was photographed, with a
bat in his hand, as the captain of the University
cricket eleven. He then so firmly introduced
David, who happened to come in, as "Mr. Nathaniel Crowfoot, one of our younger dons," that
David caught on at once, and gave him some interesting views about compulsory Greek. Crammed
with these and similar treasures of information,
the unfortunate man got an early train back to
town, in order to develop his photographs and
write up his article for the next morning, which
duly appeared and was much appreciated at Cambridge.
Then came the day of the poll. The Sawlites,
confident that their man would be returned, had
carried into Trinity, in small separate quantities,
materials for a bonfire, while the Davidians had
laid in a stock of fireworks. An amicable arrangement was come to that, whoever was successful, the bonfire should be lighted in Trinity




256   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
quadrangle, and the fireworks displayed in the
meadow beyond the river at King's in order not
to dock the occasion of its magnificence, and the
result of the poll, now that the rag was over, was
awaited with a calmness almost amounting to
apathy by both sides.
David was elected by a majority of seventythree. He resigned, of course, next day, as also
did the new members of the Sanhedrin, who numbered in all fourteen hundred and thirty. And the
Sanhedrin, much refreshed and restored to its
original numbers, resumed the deadly terror of its
debates.
XIV
DAVID had been observing the bargain he made
with his father with conscientious perseverance.
To devote himself to the study of Latin and Greek
seemed a very singular way of fitting himself to
write English (which was the avowed object of the
bargain) and a directer method would have appeared far more sensible. But he had promised to
take this course of treatment, and when the Great
Rag was over he resumed very studious ways.
Naturally, while it was in progress, everything
else went to the wall, and his father, in remote
Cornwall, was thrilled with it. David received a
very earnest letter from him one morning when it
was at its height, sending three stamped envelopes
directed to himself, and an exhortation which
showed a gratifying interest and a justifiable impatience. "You have not written to me for a
week," scribbled the Dean, "and it is extremely
remiss of you. I enclose three directed envelopes
to save you trouble, and I require of you that you
should write four sides at least to me every other




THIRD YEAR


257


day, beginning on receipt of them. My dear, it is
the best rag I ever heard of; it quite absorbs me.
So do be punctual and regular and detailed in
your letters. Form habits of punctuality now,
and you will keep them all your life....  P.S.
I hope you are working very hard."
David grinned as he read; he could imagine his
father grinning as he wrote.
So, for the remainder of that term and throughout the next, David was so industrious that, had
he not been extremely well, you might have
thought he was ill. He made a beautiful timetable for his day in different coloured inks in the
manner of Crowfoot, and used all the inks for a
rainbow-border. He enjoined on himself three
hours' work in the morning, two hours after tea,
and one, with a large query after it in green ink,
after dinner. Soon afterwards he added another
query in red ink, for he had always been sceptical
about that hour after dinner, and since experience
brought no confirmation to his wavering faith, he
presently erased it altogether in purple ink.
But it was all very dry work: his tutor, a tall,
dreary clergyman with an orange moustache,
called Giles, was a dusty, dull instructor, great on
dates, and there was no inspiration, such as Frank
might have supplied, if he had not been out at
Athens, to moisten it. David had got firmly into
his head that Latin and Greek were lessons,
things to be learned, and medicines for the mind to
be taken, and consequently supines in the one
and optatives in the other were not so much modes
of definite expressions as catches and traps. He
had contracted a baleful and painstaking and
praiseworthy habit of looking up every word that
he came across in his reading, which he did not
understand, and underlining it, capturing it and




258 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
putting a pin through it, like Sawle with his butterflies, and his cabinet, so to speak, got steadily
fuller of these butchered specimens. He had other
collections of phrases and strange classical constructions, and reproduced them with his admirably retentive memory in his verse and proses for
Crowfoot and his tutor, until these weary compositions were so full of recondite tags that he
began to be looked upon as a promising scholar.
"But it is all Rot," said David to Bags one
morning, when he had been told by his tutor that
his Iambics were a meritorious copy. "They're
trying to make me write Baboo Greek, and I'm
getting on splendidly. But it isn't real Greek any
more than the Memoir of Onoocool Chunder
Mookerjee is real English."
"What's that " asked Bags.
David looked at the clock: there was time for
a ten-minute interlude without trespassing on
what he profanely called the "three hours service. '.
"Funniest book ever seen," said David. "I
found it on a bookstall for threepence. Here it
is. Listen to the beginning of it: 'Let me hold
my Penna after a few months to write the memoirs of the individual above-named; but quid agis?
if anyone put me such a query I will be utterly
thrown into a great jeopardy and hurley-burley
and say-a fool of myself.... I will tell how a
single private individual, unaided by any, by dint
of nude energy and perseverance erected a vantage-ground above the common level of his countrymen, nay stood with the rare, having few on
the same level with him, and sat arrayed in
majestic glory.'
David turned over a few pages.
"And here's a picture," he said, "all made of




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beautiful tags. 'He was neither a Brobdignagian
nor a Lilliputian but a man of mediocre size, fair
complexion, well-shaped nose, hazel eyes, and ears
well-proportioned to his face which was of a little
round cut with rubiform lips.' "
David turned over more pages and shouted with
laughter.
" 'When he was young he was filamentous,' he
read, 'but later on he grew as plump as a partridge.'... Oh, and when he died. Listen! 'His
wife and children had not the mournful consolation to hear his last words, he remained sotto voce
for a few hours and then went to God about 6
p. m... The house became a perfect Babel and
a pretty kettle of fish.'... Perfect English,
terse and picturesque, and you could find an authority for every word and phrase in it. But
English! That's just about as much English as
my laudable Jambags are Greek. What was
that other story about an Indian clerk who
wanted a day's leave from his office work? The
boss asked him why, and he said, 'The hand that
rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket.' But
the English for that is 'My mother's dead.' And
I've got to devote my time to writing Greek that
corresponds to Baboo English. I know it does;
I feel it in my bones. And they tell me I'm making great progress. Lor'!"
Bags, as usual, had been commanded to bring
his work into David's room that morning, so that
the sight of his industry might help David not to
play the piano or divert himself in flowery unclassical pursuits. But he always welcomed any
opportunity for conversation, as it enabled him
to make speeches. He had been given a constituency to contest at the next election, and just




260  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
now he dragged every topic to an imaginary
hustings.
"I'm not quite sure that I'm with you there,"
he said in his best oratorical manner. "It is, as
regards the spoken word, at any rate, a great
score to be able to state simple things elaborately.
For that reason I uphold the periphrasis, 'The
hand that rocked the cradle,' and so forth. It
makes the hand seem of greater significance."
" 'My mother's dead' seems to me a sufficiently
significant statement, if you want to go to her
funeral," said David.
"The other is the more impressive," said
Bags. "The audience, if you state a bald, stark
fact, receives a shock. If you elegantly and yet
colloquially spread that fact out, if I may use the
expression, you make the audience use their wits
to find out what you mean. They do; and that
puts them in a good temper. The law of England
consists entirely of phrases and periphrases and
obsolete nomenclature. To accomplish a legal
transaction you are bound to employ a language
known only to lawyers. In fact the law of England was founded and is maintained solely to support otherwise indigent barristers."
"I don't see what that's got to do with my
having to translate Shakespeare into Baboo
Greek," said David.
"It has everything to do with it," said Bags.
"You have to provide for the employment of
otherwise indigent dons. Baboo Greek is a language only thoroughly known by them, and education is not a boon for the educated but a profession for the educator."
"That's from your last speech to the Sanhedrin," said David suspiciously.




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"It's nothing of the kind. It's from the speech
I'm going to make this evening."
"The principle's the same," said David.
"The principle apparently being a deplorable
inaccuracy with regard to the past and the future," retorted Bags.
David tumbled a book or two down from the
shelf.
"And in a year or two you'll be one of our
legislators!" he said. "Fancy being governed
by you, Bags. Funny, that."
"And in a year or two you'll be writing books
and forming literary taste. Excrutiatingly amusing!"
"And probably you won't get into Parliament," continued David, "and nobody will publish anything I write. So we shall be just about
where we are now."
It occurred to Bags to say that there was a
House of Lords as well as a House of Commons,
but it was wiser not to say that kind of thing to
David. His respect for hereditary legislators was
tempered with ribaldry, and his ribaldry was not
tempered with respect. So Bags changed the
subject.
"I saw Crowfoot just now," he said.
"Well, I've often done that," said David, who
was feeling grumpy.
"He said something pleasant about you."
"Get on, then," said David greedily.
"Oh, nothing much. Only about your Baboo
Latin prose. Said you had the makings of a
scholar. But I daresay he doesn't know."
"Pooh!" said David. "That's only because I
cram it with phrases out of Cicero's letters."
"So that's that," said Bags.
David opened his Euripides.




262 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


"Euripides!" he said. "There's a dreary dramatist for you. He writes the most measly sequels
to good stories. It was exciting, you know, for
Clytemnestra to kill Agamemnon on his return
from Troy-A-Eschylus wrote that; but Euripides
goes on with it, instead of leaving it there. He
goes on with the home life of Electra, after her
mother has killed her father-an awful poor time
she has. Then her brother Orestes comes back
home. Everybody knows it's Orestes, and the one
person who doesn't recognise him is his own dear
sister, who has always been devoted to him. They
have an enormous talk, and still she hasn't the
faintest idea who he is-she's clearly deficient.
Then what do you think makes it dawn on her?
She sees that his foot is like hers, and so guesses
that this stranger is her long-lost brother! Why,
the strawberry mark on the arm is nothing to it."
"Seems a bit forced," conceded Bags.
David turned up a word in his dictionary.
"And I can't even attend to the play," he said,
"for all the time I have to'be looking out words,
and seeing how they always use the optative with
e. I found one of the blighters, Sophocles, I
think, using the subjunctive with El the other day,
so I made a note of that, and dragged it into my
Jambags the next week. Giles knew exactly
where I'd got it from, and he beamed over his
spectacles at me, and said, 'Very nice!' It's degrading. "
"You used to be rather keen about something
in Sophocles once," said Bags.
"Never," said David.
"But you did. I remember your coming into
our study one evening at school, and saying
Sophocles was a ripper. I'm sure of it, because
I thought it frightfully affected of you. Frank




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had been translating some chorus to you, and you
said it beat Swinburne hollow."
David was beginning to have some faint remembrance of this.
"Yes, because he didn't bother me about construction and particles," he said.  "He just
rolled it off in topping English, and there was the
end of it. "
"I expect the Greek words are just as pretty,
if you knew Greek," said Bags. "Why don't you
go on that tack? Just read it as if it was meant
to be read."
"That's not a frightfully bad idea," said
David. "It was a chorus out of CEdipus Coloneus,
I believe. Funny that you should have remembered that evening."
He left his high chair at the table with its dictionary and grammars and notebook, lit a pipe,
picked up a Sophocles, and spread himself on the
sofa. Then came the turning over of pages,
heavily annotated, as he found the famous chorus,
and then silence.
Ten minutes afterwards he spoke.
"I say, Bags, just take the Lexicon and look up
-no, it doesn't matter..."
David's word-loving mind began to swim and
soak itself in the sparkling river of jewelled
speech.... Ever since he had begun to work
hard at his classics, in fulfilment of the paternal
bargain, he had applied himself to strict academic
rules, dissecting the dead, according to the prescribed plan, much in the same way as a medical
student dissects, whose object is not to attain a
high appreciation of human beauty, but to see
how the wheels go round. David had altogether
banished from his silly head the notion that the
language he was trying to learn was merely the




264 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


instrument of human speech in the mouth of the
most beauty-loving people in the world, and not
invented by them to tax the ingenuity and vex
the souls of generations yet unborn. For nearly
a year now he had ploughed through this arid
academic wilderness, and here suddenly, at the
suggestion of Bags, was an oasis... Just as
Frank's translation of this same chorus had been
to him a revelation of the beauty which it contained, when translated, so now he found that with
his expanded knowledge of Greek he could appreciate it directly, as it stood. There were words he
didn't know, but whatever they meant they
sounded jolly as he muttered them to himself.
It had literally never occurred to him to read
Greek in Greek before. With the idea that Greek
was "lessons," a subject for an examination, he
had made English of it as he went along (for
that was what you had to do in the Tripos), looking out a word here, underlining a crabbed phrase
there, taking no end of trouble, in fact, to squeeze
all life out of it. But now he began to perceive
that these lines had beauty and significance without being translated at all. Sophocles had not
written them as a cipher, which only meant something when it was rendered into an intelligible
tongue. In fact it was the other way about: it
was they which gave significance to the translation. You were not obliged to put English into
Greek before it meant anything; why then subject
Greek to a similar process before you gave it the
credit of signifying anything on its own account?
It must be understood that only the most exiguous glimmer of such notions dawned on David's
darkness that morning in answer to Bags's wayward suggestion, but the glimmer once kindled
was likely to be fed by very inflammable stuff,




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265


namely, his own passion for the beauty of words,
for the joy of painting with them, of making them
the prepared palette by means of which thought
became pictorially visible and glowed with its own
appropriate colours.... Heaven forbid, too, the
idea that David put it to himself like that, though
that was the process, unstated and unformulated
by him, of what was beginning to happen. Vivid
and impressionable all through, the last thing that
occurred to him was to analyse his impressions;
instead, he used them. His skylarking temperament went winging along unconscious of his discoveries, and, not less, of its growing maturity.
He was far too hungry for impressions and digested them too healthily to know that he was
digesting anything at all. He ate and drank and
rose up to play.
One o'clock struck with astonishing unexpectedness, and reminded him of two things, the first
and most important being that he should have
attended a lecture precisely one hour ago.
"But I forgot," he said, "and so there's nothing more to say about that. Dreary it would
have been. "
He chucked his Sophocles on to the table.
"Hurrah! the silly morning's over," he said,
"and in consequence the melody of 'The Merry
Peasant returning from his Work,' as composed
by Mr. Schumann and performed (I might say
created) by the celebrated pianist Mr. Davowski
Blaizowski, shall be indicated on the instrument.
What instrument, do you ask? 'I won't deceive
you,' said Mrs. Crupp, 'it's the piano....
Unlike most pianists, Blaizowski gives his best
recitals with the music in front of him, and his
liquid eyes fixed upon it. Blast! The text of the,
Merry Peasant has dropped into the instrument.




266 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


How on earth can I get it out? What would
Crowfoot do? He would saw a hole in the front
of the piano, insert his hand and take the Merry
Peasant out. Or, better still, he would fish for
the Merry Peasant with a piece of string and a
bent pin. The ordinary person, of course, would,
by undoing two simple hooks, move the front of
the piano, extricate the M.P.-that's what you'll
become-and then put the front of the piano back
again."
David adopted this mean and commonplace device.
"I went to brekker the other day with Crowfoot," he said, "and as he was pouring the rich
boiling water from his urn into the teapot, the
teapot lid fell back into place, and a circular cascade of boiling water played prettily over the
table. Now, that might happen to anybody and to
any teapot, and the grovelling, uninventive mind
would just turn off the tap of the urn, and then
lift up the teapot lid again. But do you suppose
Crowfoot did anything so efficient and commonplace? Not a bit of it, my little M.P. Guess."
"Can't," said Bags.
"Well, he performed prodigies of valour, in
snatching at the teapot lid through the boiling
cascade, in order to open it again, and scalded his
fingers. So he gave that up, and had another
splendid idea, all in a flash. He pulled the teapot
away, and put the slop-basin under the tap instead. He laughed with pleasure at his own ingenuity, and as he blew on his fingers he said,
'Rather dodgy, that!' And then at his leisure
he turned the tap of the urn off, and all was well."
"Why didn't you do that for him at once?"
asked Bags.
"Because I couldn't," said David. "I had to




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see how many ingenious things he would do first.
And naturally I couldn't ask him afterwards why
he hadn't done it, for that would have spoiled all
his pleasure in his dodginess. I'm going to play
draughts with him after Hall to-night. At least
it's a new variety of draughts which he's invented, called 'Chess-draughts.'... Sounds like
cough-mixture.... He told me I should understand it as soon as I started. And much more
exciting, he says."
"Lunch," said Bags, as David began to worry
out the Merry Peasant.
"Right-oh. Just two seconds. The Merry
Peasant gets home in no time."
David had a tennis-court at two, and vastly
enjoyed himself for an hour and a half. When
he came out, the abbreviated December day was
drawing to its close, and the sun like a ruddy disk
just clear of the western horizon. He walked
along the Backs where the last dead leaves had
fallen from the elms and lay in deep yellow drifts
below the trees; it was pleasant to plough his
way through them because of the hissing noise he
made as his feet kicked them up, and because they
smelt of tea. Above, the bare branches glowed in
the illumination of the sinking sun, and a middleaged moon, not red at all (as surely she ought to
have been if she was getting her light from that
red disk in the west), made a strange mystification of cross-lights, for she shed a pale whitish
phosphorescence into the heart of the shadows
cast by the sun. Over the river, as he crossed the
bridge into Trinity on his way to the Pitt Club,
there was spread a web of mist in which the moon
had it all her own pale way, but above in the clear
darkening blue of the sky were rosy clouds where




268 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
the sun still reigned.... What millions of things
there were to notice!
David leaned for a little on the damp parapet
of the bridge contrasting one light with another.
These high fleecy clouds were rosy as the fingers
of dawn.... There was a word in Homer which
showed that the same simile had occurred to that
venerable author ("or group of authors," said
David to himself, remembering a lecture on the
Iliad). Homer used a pretty word about it too:
"rosy-fingered" did not present any obvious
superiority. It was just as good in the Greek,
if you said " po6osaKIrvXo " and didn't bother to
translate it at all.
"Jolly nice word," said David to himself.
"Why not write some more Homer?"
Tea at the Pitt, which was David's immediate
objective when he had done with the sun and
moon, was always agreeable. The new Homer
might describe the "butter-fingered muffins" and
the "belly-burning tea." And when Blaizides, so
he Homerically reflected, had taken his fill of
butter-fingered muffins and belly-burning tea he
would lay hands on unharvested sheets of paper,
and write several letters and stuff them into the
brazen-lipped post-box in the lordly club without
putting any spittle-moistened stamps upon their
envelopes, for the lordly club always defrayed
the postal-charges of its members when they
wrote their letters there. If you were a lifemember you could have your letters stamped for
you till the day of your death, so that if you lived
long enough, and were extremely diligent, it was
clear that your correspondence would account for
your original subscription many times over.
In fact you might make it a habit to write so




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269


many letters every day that the Committee would
offer you a small annuity to stop. You could
easily write-it was all becoming rather Crowfootian-a sovereign's worth of letters a day, if
you devoted your whole time to it, and it would
be well worth the Committee's while, at that rate,
to offer you ~100 a year to cease from these epistolary activities.... David had once tested the
scope of the Pitt's postal-system, by addressing
a letter to himself at King's College, Cambridge,
via Brindisi, Port Said, Bombay, Yokohama, San
Francisco, and Liverpool, and found it waiting
for him on his breakfast table next morning, having been left by hand. Certainly that method of
delivery had been quicker than if it had gone
round the world, and he could not lodge a formal
complaint.
Anyhow, there was a letter to be written to-day
to Frank at the British School in Athens; that
would be rather expensive for the Pitt Club, and
they couldn't get out of it this time by delivering
it by hand at King's. So after a hilarious tea
with a friend or two, David retired to a sequestered corner in the smoking-room, and biting the
end of a quill pen began to consider what he
should say to Frank. Immediately the oddity of
considering what he should say to Frank struck
him. It was easy enough to fill four pages, or
eight for that matter, with general Cambridge
gas. Usually, in fact, the difficulty was to stop,
for there was always such a plethora of subjects,
but to-day the difficulty was to begin. For some
time, vaguely and subconsciously, but to-day quite
consciously and deliberately he wanted to tell
Frank...
David lit a cigarette, and tried to determine
exactly what it was that he wanted to tell him.




270 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


He found it difficult to arrive at this, for his
powers of self-analysis were delightfully elementary, and the written word demanded definiteness.
But he knew that within the last year his attitude
towards Frank had suffered considerable modification, and he was equally well aware that
Frank's attitude towards him had not altered.
For, up till now, ever since the beginning of their
devoted friendship, Frank's mind had completely
dominated his own, so that whatever in tastes and
conduct Frank had commended had been to him,
ex officio, admirable; whatever Frank thought
lightly of had been contemptible. But now with
his growing maturity David was beginning to see
that he could no longer take reach-me-down judgments, however nicely cut, and stuff himself into
them. He wanted more room here and perhaps
less latitude there: they had to fit him; it was no
longer he who must fit himself to them. It was
not that Frank was didactic or tutorial, it was
rather that he himself had been rapturously surrendered and receptive. He had been eager to
don the habiliments that Frank cut out, flinging
himself into them with the certainty that they
must and should fit him. It was not, again, that
there had been open disputes or differences between them; it was mainly that David now recognized that a mental and moral independence of
his own had grown up in him. For long, no
doubt, it had been making root and fibre below
the soil, and now, rather disconcertingly, it had
put up above the ground that green strong sprouting horn that demanded light and freedom to expand in any way that its own instinct and vitality
prompted. His mind was not any longer the
mind of one who walked with his hand in an



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other's, and swallowed with open mouth whatever was given him.
David laid down his quill, and took another
cigarette. It was all very puzzling, and he
wanted to give himself an instance of what he
was driving at. His own whisky-experiment with
Bags occurred to him; Frank had told him that
Bags was an ass, and advised him to let Bags go
his own way, and not to be so silly.... But
David, taking his own line, had been silly; he had
also been swiftly and supremely successful.
Then there was another train of thought that
stood in the way of beginning this difficult letter,
and how on earth was he to convey the gist of
that?.... When first this friendship began, he
was a small hero-worshipping boy of fourteen,
Frank the captain of the school eleven, with three
years and all his athletic prowess dividing them.
That element of hero-worship had undoubtedly
been an ingredient, and a strong one, in their relationship, and the amazing fact that the hero
really cared for this little worshipping scug had
strongly coloured it. There was, necessarily, not
a particle of that left now. That particular
physical attraction had gradually and inevitably
vanished.
"I shall never begin this blasted letter,"
thought David.... He broke away from details,
and tried to sum it all up. He was not in the
least less devoted to Frank than he had always
been-that was sure enough and surely would
always persist through any change of relationship. That male manly love might manifest itself
in many mediums, but it was not changed because
the mediums vanished. Above all, now, at the
ages of twenty-one and twenty-four the three
years that separated them were immeasurably




272 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


shorter than the three years which had stood between them at the ages of fourteen and seventeen.
Naturally such intervals dwindled in significance:
you couldn't expect that a man of seventy-one
(as David would be in a short fifty years) would
revere the opinion of his friend because he was
seventy-four.
David finished his cigarette, and picked up his
pen again. He knew that nothing said with love
behind it ought to hurt anybody, but somehow
he was afraid of Frank being hurt. Frank was
hard in many ways, he had strong, scornful judgments when he disapproved, and for that very
reason he was over-soft in other places. He
rather laid about him sometimes, with his nose in
the air, dealing out hard slaps. "You don't improve people," thought David, "by slapping
them. You've got to get in their place, and
imagine what it would be like to be slapped."
And Frank with all his brilliant hardness had such
a tender skin, a skin often unimaginably tender to
David's robustness. "All the more reason," he
thought, "for being careful. Let's begin gently."
"Oh, Frank," he wrote, "I feel frightfully old.
You won't recognise me when you come back, because I've taken to spectacles, and have got a
long grey beard and gout. I work five hours a
day, and thought it was going to be six, but I was
wrong. Being twenty-one has made me feel older
than the rocks I sit among, and my eyelids are a
little weary. Did you once find that you got to a
stage when you had to make up your mind for
yourself, and didn't care a blow what anybody
else said?
"I rather wish I was older or younger. If I
was older, I should have taken a line of some




THIRD YEAR


273


kind; while, when I was younger, I never thought
about taking a line at all. I hate transition."
Really, English composition was extraordinarily difficult. He knew what he meant to convey quite exactly, but when it came to putting it
into words, it was like trying to anchor yourself
to the tail of an eel.
"I suppose the very fact of growing older," he
wrote, "is the same as the fact that one changes.
You can't stay still and let the years slide by;
they pick you up and carry you along, and you
don't know you're being carried till they plant
you down in some different place. Yet think of
the dear old things here, Crowfoot and A. G., and
so on. Someone in a book I read the other day
says that you're born of a certain essential age,
gradually live into it, and remain there. Thus
if your essential age is forty, you're a man of
forty when you're twenty, and remain a man of
forty if you live to be eighty. It sounds awful
rot, but then you do get people like Crowfoot and,
A. G. who remain about twenty. But then why
should I feel older, as I certainly do?"
David suddenly observed that it was six o'clock,
and according to his rainbow time-table he ought
to have been at work again. He thought he would
take this difficult composition back to King's and
finish it there, but then he would have to stamp it
at his own expense, which was so bad for the Pitt
Club. That would never do; one of the first objects of existence was to make the Pitt Club stamp
your letters for you, and so he made a cache of it
on the top of a bookcase, for completion tomorrow.
The new variation on the antique game of
draughts that night exceeded David's highest an



274 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
ticipations. It was refreshing after an attack of
old age and responsibility to find that when you
arrived at Mr. Crowfoot's time of life (forty or
fifty or sixty, or whatever it might be) there was
a chance of still retaining such a store of hectic
excitability.... David went up to his rooms as
soon as Hall was over, to wait for him there till
he came out of the Dons' Common-room, and observed that he was to be the only guest for this
adventure, for there was a table drawn up close
to the fire, with the draught-board ready on it
and two glasses with a flagon of Tintara wine.
There were also two boxes of draughtsmen, into
which he looked, and found that one contained the
ordinary black and white pieces, while the other
was full of blue and green pieces, which were
slightly sticky, as if they had been lately painted
and had not yet dried completely. There was also
a metronome, set ready at hand for some purpose
of which he could not form the slightest conception, and a small dish in the fender with a tin
cover to it, which contained pieces of anchovy
toast. This looked as if the hunger of exhaustion
must be provided for. A second large table in
the middle of the room, where stood the row of
polychromate inks, had two piles of glee-books
lying open on it; there were indications that one
set of these had had chunks of the other put into
it, and that the other had had chunks of the one
inserted; a gum-bottle evidently lately used bore
out this conjecture. A sheaf of Latin proses,
among which he saw one of his own, was on the
music-rest of the piano, and on the top of it some
damp lawn-tennis balls evidently put there to dry
after being washed, and a pair of walking-shoes.
He had barely time to skim off the cream of
these impressions when he heard the hurry of




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footsteps on the stairs outside, followed by the
noise of a heavy stumble, and an explosive spilling
of objects of some sort. Then there came a shrill,
lamentable exclamation with loud clearings of the
throat, and David, broadly on the grin, opened the
door to see if he could be of any use.
"Oh, there you are, Blaize; capital," said Crowfoot, who was picking up a quantity of books of
Common Prayer which bestrewed the stairs. "So
tiresome: I thought I knew the number of steps
on my staircase, but I must have counted wrong.
Of course I couldn't see them over the top of the
books. Yes, will you help me pick them up?
They're the prayer-books of the choir in chapel, in
which the text says that they are still to pray for
King William and Queen Adelaide, forsooth.
After great difficulty-really some people are so
antiquated and obstinate-I got the Fellows'
meeting to permit me to put a slip into each of
them with the names of King George and Queen
Mary and Queen Alexandra. I've had them typewritten, and in case you hadn't come up yet, I
was meaning to spend a minute or two in putting
them in.... Thank you; yes, I think that's all.
Let's see; you've got one, two, three, four, or
rather, two, four, six, eight, for that's the easiest
way to count, and I've got ten, twelve, fourteen.
What can have happened to the other one? Oh
no, I've got two, four-or rather ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen. That makes it all right."
They carried in their piles of prayer-books, and
perched them on the top of the piano, where
Crowfoot counted them again.
"We won't trouble about the slips now," he
said, "or perhaps it would be wiser to finish with
them, now we're at it and there's a gum-bottle




276 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


handy. And I think the lawn-tennis balls are dry,
so we can get rid of them."
"You haven't been playing lawn-tennis, have
you?" asked David.
"Not since last summer, but now in four or
five months we shall be playing again-it'll be
May, you know-and there's nothing so annoying
if you want some Tuesday, for instance, to go and
play lawn-tennis to find that you've only got dirty
balls. So I always wash them towards Christmas, and there you are, in May, ready to take
your racquet and begin. My shoes, too, what are
they doing on the top of the piano? Stay; I
have it: I knew that if I put them there they would
catch my eye, which they wouldn't if they were
in the shoe-cupboard, and I should remember to
have them sent to the boot-maker's."
He peered at the proses on the music-rest, and
cleared his throat.
"That's a good dodge," he said. "In case I
should forget about the proses I have to correct,
and sit down to my piano, there they would be in
front of me, and I should get to work on them,
and do my music afterwards. Now we're all
ship-shape, I think. Let's get to our chessdraughts."
"Aren't we going to do the slips for the
prayer-books?" asked David.
"I think we might leave them, after all.
They'll want spreading out, and there's hardly
room on my table with the glee-books still gummy.... Shoes and proses and prayer-books: that's
easy to remember. Now let's make ourselves
comfortable. Tintara and small cigars and the
anchovies in the fender, and the two boxes of
draughtsmen all ready. We begin with the black
and white ones in the ordinary way, at least very




THIRD YEAR


277


nearly ordinary. The only difference at present
is that every piece counts as a crown to begin
with, and can move either backwards or forwards.
Shall we start with a trial game? It gets a little
more complicated further on when the chessmoves come in."
Crowfoot was completely in his element during
the trial game as he explained the pleasant intricacies of his invention, and thought of a quantity of fresh ones, for future incorporation, as he
went along. Every piece, as he had mentioned,
counted as a crown already, while if it got safely
across the board, it was then endowed with the
movement of a bishop at chess, and could devastate the diagonals, capturing any piece to which
the road was open. In order to show that it had
become a bishop, it did not have an ordinary piece
of its own put on the top of it, because that might
make you think you were playing ordinary
draughts, but was crowned, if a white piece, with
a green piece, and if originally a black piece with
a blue piece.
"Black and blue," he said-"that's easy to
remember if you think of a bruise, and that leaves
green and white. Or shall we begin with green
and white pieces, and then the white become
black? Black and white you know, like whisky.
Which do you think would be the easiest?"
David's brain was just holding on, as by claws
and teeth, to the exposition, and with a mouth
full of anchovy toast he waved the new proposal
aside.
"I'm sure the first plan's the best," he said.
"We start with black and white, and they get
blue and green crowns."
"Respectively," said Crowfoot. "Very well.
Or wait a minute-no, that wouldn't do. Where




278   DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
had we got to? Yes-a piece of mine-or say,
yours-gets across and becomes like a bishop.
But if it ever gets back again to its base-line, then
it becomes like a queen in chess, and can move
like a castle as well as a bishop."
"I see," said David. "And what colour does
it become when it's a queen?"
Crowfoot laughed with pleasure.
"That's a great dodge," he said. "Now, when
it's a bishop, if you remember, it consists of a blue
piece over a black piece or a green piece over a
white piece. But when it's a queen, you reverse
the pieces, and it looks like an ordinary piece.
So your adversary has to be very careful to look
whether it's green or blue below, or else he'll walk
into the jaws of a queen. Dear me, the green and
the blue pieces are very like each other by this
light. Would it be better to write a G. on the blue,
I mean the green, and a B on the blue, in order to
distinguish them? No, I don't think it matters; it
will only make us more careful.' Now let's toss
for beginning. Which hand will you have?"
Crowfoot had put a green piece into his left
hand and a blue into his right. David chose the
left hand.
"Green," said Crowfoot. "You're green. Now
let's think: green was white before it became
green. Therefore you're white. Therefore you
begin. Now we've started. Won't you have a
glass of Tintara before you move?"
David thought it best to keep his head as clear
as possible, and a scene of unparalleled confusion
instantly began. Crowfoot made a breach in the
centre of the board, and got three bishops. He
crowned one of them with a green piece by mistake, and, thinking it was David's, laid a terrible
trap for it, and captured it at the expense of two




THIRD YEAR


279


of his own men. David meantime had got a
bishop of his own, and leaping down the whole
length of a diagonal turned it into a queen, capturing both Crowfoot's remaining bishops in
consecutive moves.
"Very powerful move," said Crowfoot, nursing his chin and adjusting the extra lenses of his
spectacles. "Now I shall have to put on my
thinking cap. Stay! I've got your queen on the
hip. You might have taken that piece of mine, so
I huff you, and down it comes and becomes a
bishop. No, that would never do. Dear me, I
had three bishops just now, you only took two.
What can have happened to the third? However,
I move that. Now what do you do?"
"I take it," said David.
"Dear me! How could I have come to make
such a slip? Oh, the metronome. I've not set it
going. That's a dodge to make us move briskly.
You set it at Andante, and have five beats for a
common piece to move in, ten for a bishop, and
fifteen for a queen. If you don't move by then
you lose your turn."
The weight slid down the pendulum and ticked
out fifteen distracting beats, Prestissimo, before
the most nimble hand could have moved anything.
Crowfoot tried wedging it up with pieces of match
and nibs, and weighting the top of the pendulum
with the cork out of the Tintara bottle, but no
remedy was efficacious for more than a turn or
two, and then it was ticking away again at top
speed. So after abstruse calculations Crowfoot
worked out that the equivalent number of beats
at this higher rate would be thirty for an ordinary piece, sixty for a bishop, and ninety for a
queen. He counted these aloud as fast as he
could, but no agility of lip-movement could pos



280 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
sibly pronounce the words as fast as the metronome ticked them. It was therefore shut down
and put on the piano with his walking shoes to be
mended to-morrow.
Meantime the pieces flew about, changing
colour like chameleons as they crossed the board
and came back again, till there were three queens
left on each side which sprang from end to end
of the lines evading capture.
There sat Crowfoot on the edge of his chair,
clearing his throat and adjusting his spectacles,
with a Borneo cigar in one hand, the ash of which
he flicked by mistake into his Tintara, his eyes
gleaming with excitement, and his fingers not
quite letting go of the piece he proposed to move
while he ejaculated "Stay! That would never
do. There! How do you get out of that?" and
making up fresh rules to fit the difficulties in
which he found himself. Finally, the game had
to be given up as a draw, and David, completely
exhausted, lay back in his chair.
"Really it makes a first-rate game already,"
said Crowfoot, "and with a little more contriving it will be even more exciting. Very little
apparatus, you sed, just two sets of draughtsmen,
one of which you enamel, and a metronome. Must
you be going? Eleven o'clock is it already? I
had no idea. We must certainly have some more
games. Another glass of wine, won't you? I
must draw up a list of rules, and I shouldn't in
the least wonder if there was a rage in chessdraughts, just as there was in halma. Good night,
Blaize. I shall just gum the prayer-books before
I go to bed."
David took his letter out of the cache next day.
He decided to send it, but added several pages




THIRD YEAR


281


about chess-draughts. They rather discounted
the extreme seriousness of the first part, but it
was only fair to give both sides.
XV
"So it's all over except the hissing," thought
David to himself, as he came out of the last paper
of his Tripos. "But it's ten days before anyone
can begin to hiss... Wish I didn't care so
frightfully."
He knew he had worked well for this last year,
not industriously and steadily only, but with all
the intelligence he possessed, "and very little of
that," he added to himself, but whether he had
done well or not he had not the smallest idea.
It was no use thinking about it anyhow, and so
instantly his mind went back to the history paper
which had been the last of the inquisitions. On
arriving at his rooms, he consulted two compendious histories of Greece and Rome, as to certain crucial dates, with the gloomiest results. He
gave a hollow groan, tied the miserable little
manuals together, weighted them with the caster
of the sofa that was always coming off, and
dropped them from the middle of the bridge into
the river to drown like parricides.
"I'll larn 'em to contradict me," he observed.
A few bubbles came up on the surface from the
mud into which they had sunk.
"So this labourer's task is o'er," said David,
"and he's jolly well going to amuse himself till
the judgment day."
So he got up late and played his piano, and
developed a new service at tennis, and bowled
rather nicely for the University, and read a quantity of entertaining English literature, some




282 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


books in order to see how it ought to be done and
others to see how it ought not to be done, and
wrote a Shakespearean sonnet to Bags in memory of the Whisky-crisis beginning:
"Shall I compare thee to a summer day?
Then art more thirsty and less temperate.
Not port nor beer nor whisky nor Tokay
But is the wanton of thy hot palate,"
and parodied Keats' "Ode to Autumn" with an
"Ode to Christmas" beginning:
"Season of bills and yellow biliousness,
Close bosom-friend of the hot buttered bun....
Neither of these futile compositions were ever
finished, because a touring theatrical company
came to Cambridge and played The Second Mrs.
Tanqueray, and so he had to set to work on a play
instead. Then that had to be made silly too, before he had begun to think of a plot, and it became
The First Mrs. Crabtree (and hot stuff she was),
which brought Bags in again, and he broke that
off too with a letter to the Cambridge Review,
saying that its columns often contained the news
of the marriage and death of famous Cambridge
men, but never their birth. It was signed "M.A.
Cantab," and got printed by mistake... David
sent a copy of that issue to his father, and would
have sent another to Frank, but he had left
Athens and was now on his way home.
He had never looked forward to any arrival of
Frank on the scene with such misgiving. Frank
had clearly received that letter written from the
Pitt, because, subsequently, he had alluded to
chess-draughts, but the first half of it had re



THIRD YEAR


283


mained unmistakably unanswered. That wasn't
accidental; it wasn't either that Frank thought it
mere piffle, for if that had been his opinion, he
would certainly have stated it with his utmost
lucidity. But he had simply ignored it. "So he
doesn't think it's piffle," thought David, "and
what the deuce does he think it?" It was all very
harassing, but he never wished he hadn't written
it. If Frank had misunderstood him, the misunderstanding could be cleared up. If he had not
misunderstood him, well, then he understood,
which was precisely what David meant him to do.
But, one way and another, this waiting foi
Frank's arrival was as bad as waiting for the lists
of the Tripos.
The days dropped off, like over-ripe plums
which no one cared to pluck, with misgivings and
fitful occupations buzzing about them like wasps,
and settling on them and nibbling them, and with
the beginning of May-week Bags became the biggest wasp of all and took up a deal of time....
For Bags, to put it succinctly, had burst. He had
for a year and a half bottled, corked up, and
wired down his amorous gases, and had almost
forgotten what it felt like to sit on a tobacconist's
counter and try not to look foolish if a friend
came in and found him gazing into a flapper's
eyes. Then the pressure had proved irresistible,
and with the incursion of marriageable maidens
for the May-week festivities Bags had exploded
with a bang. In other words, he had fallen in
love, and appeared to think that nobody had ever
done so before. He selected David as his confidant, owing to David's undoubted though indirect
responsibility for his present disintegration, and
was quite interminable. At times David almost
wished he had let Bags go to the devil his own




284 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


way; at times, though Bags had clearly taken
leave of his senses, David, for some obscure reason, rather envied him. It was surely enviable to
be so completely absorbed in anything.
Bags did all the conventional things. He
sighed and he strutted and he shaved twice a day
and thought himself the most miserable outcast
on the face of the earth and the lord of creation.
He tried to read poetry, but dismally failed; he
wore his best riding-breeches when he made up
his mind to propose and could not bring himself
to the point; and at all hours of the day he ran
round to unbosom himself to David, whenever
he could not be with Her. She, it may be stated,
was a very pretty, sensible, and suitable girl, one
of two sisters of Malcolm of the Sanhedrin, who
was up here for the May-week with her Mamma.
She liked Bags immensely, and was perfectly prepared to accept him when he asked her to do so.
"She dances too divinely," he said to David
about half-past eleven one morning.
David yawned. The conference had been a long
one, and they were really arriving at nothing.
"So you told me," he said. " 'Sylph' was the
expression. And her name's Ida. Quite a good
name. 'Oh, mother Ida, hear me ere I die.' "
"She's going to be at the King's ball to-night,"
said Bags, "so you'll see her."
David had already said that he was not going,
but Bags no longer had the faintest idea what
anybody but She said.
"She says she's looking forward to it," continued Bags.
This was too much.
"If you mean that she's looking forward to my
seeing her," said David in a loud, clear voice, as
if he was speaking to a foreigner whose knowl



THIRD YEAR


285


edge of English was imperfect, "she'll be disappointed, for I'm not going. I've told you that
nine times. Better break it to her, Bags. You
mustr't encourage false hopes in her."
"What's that?" asked Bags. "Oh, yes, I believe you told me you weren't going. I suppose
you're going to sit and jaw with Frank. He's
coming up this afternoon, isn't he? What I
meant was that she's looking forward to the
King's ball. Nothing about you. I wonder if she
meant anything special by that."
"Can't say," said David. "But she'd know."
Bags got up.
"Well, anyhow, you'll see her to-morrow," he
said. "She's coming to lunch with me; they all
are. Don't forget you're coming."
"Rather not," said David.
He had thought that Bags's getting up meant
that he was going away, but it appeared to be only
a preliminary for his sitting down again. No
doubt he wanted to stretch his legs after being so
long in one position.
"She's never heard a nightingale sing," said
Bags.
"Lamentable," said David.   "Take her to
Crowfoot's glees. I'll be there."
Bags gave a bleat of mirthless laughter, and became quite grave again instantly.
"So to-night after the first dance," he said,
"we're going down over the King's bridge to the
gate. We shall hear them there, shan't we?
Don't they always sing in the Backs?"
The ghost of a smile quivered on David's
mouth. This was food for thought....
"Yes, I often hear them hollering away," he
said.  "Pretty noise. I expect she'll like it
awfully. It might buck you up, too."




286 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"Buck me up?"
"Yes; put some courage into you. Poor old
Bags! Lord! it's rather a change from the bold
bad days of the cocoons."
"You've got rather coarse lately," said Bags.
"I always was," said David. "But can't you
really find one drop of the old brand? Just ask
her to be yours: she can't ask you. Say you're
willing. Barkis is willing, Bags is frightfully
willing. It has been done, you know. I expect
your father asked your mother to marry him.
Telegraph to him and find out.... Look here,
do you mind if I read? You can go on talking
just the same, and when you've got anything new
to say, shout 'Hi' and I'll listen."
Bags sighed.
"I must be going," he said. "Is your clock
right?"
"No, it's slow," said David-"ever so much
slow.
Bags walked swiftly but delicately away. His
shoes were lovely to look upon, but then people
only judged by the outward show.
David's ghost of a smile materialised into a
broad grin, and he strolled out into the town and
visited various shops. It would be a great sell for
Bags and Her if there didn't happen to be a
nightingale singing in the Backs at the end of
the first dance. Nightingales couldn't be expected
to know for certain when the first dance came to
an end, or how important it was that they should
be punctual, and he was eager to help. He explained what he wanted at a bird-fancier's, an
ironmonger's, and a music-shop, and eventually
visited a toy-shop, and unweariedly explained all
over again.




THIRD YEAR


287


"It does exist," he said, "and it's a little tube,
and you blow down it into a cup of water. A sort
of whistle in fact, and it makes a noise like a
nightingale."
"Oh, the Philomela," said a superior young
lady. "Two and sixpence, or in aluminium three
and sixpence."
David thought the aluminium one might be
more stimulating, and the young lady agreed that
it had a much superior tone.
He practised diligently that afternoon, and
made the most ravishing noises.... Frank ought
to have been here by this time, and would surely
come straight to his rooms. Or perhaps he had
gone to unpack first: that was possible, and David
walked across to his window, meaning to deposit
Philomela in the flower-box, where she was not
likely to be found, and then stroll round to the
rooms which he had secured for him. There under the tree in front of his window were standing
Frank and Crowfoot, looking earnestly up into
the thick foliage.
"Oh, he's come!" said David, and took the
staircase in three leaps and ran out. That he had
come was all that mattered, his misgivings and
his Tripos and Bags and Philomela all went into
the limbo of forgotten things.
" Frank, you old brute!" he cried. "Ripping!"
"Hullo, David!" he said. "Just arrived. I
was coming round to see if you were in."
"Ah, Blaize," said Crowfoot. "Most interesting. Maddox and I were looking to see if we
could catch sight of it. All these years I've never
known a nightingale this side of the river.
Though why nightingales I don't know: they sing
equally by day."




288 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


He adjusted his lenses as a bird flapped out of
the tree.
"There it is!" he cried. "Oh no, that's a
wood-pigeon. It seems to have stopped singing
now. What a pity! Why not put some groundsel
or chopped egg below the tree? It would soon
get to understand that there was good food here,
and more nightingales would come. Then by
degrees we might lure them up into the court, and
so into the town, like the seagulls in London. It
would be very pretty to have nightingales singing
in the High Street. Have you ever heard them
in these trees before?"
"Never," said David. "Are you sure it was a
nightingale?"
"Perfectly certain. There's no other bird-note
the least like its 'jug-jug.' "
David's eyes cautiously caught Frank's, and
seemed to brim with some unspoken communication.
"'Jug-jug,'" repeated Crowfoot. "They say
that if you warble 'jug-jug' to a nightingale, you
can make it sing back. 'Jug-jug'! There! No,
I think that was only a motor-horn somewhere.
If you'd go round that side of the tree, Maddox,
and I remained this side  "
David found this quite irresistible. Much as
he would have liked to stop here and listen to
Crowfoot disclose other ingenious schemes, he
wanted most of all to make the nightingale answer to his juggings.
"Awfully interesting," he said. "Come up
presently, Frank, I'll get tea ready."
David flew upstairs again, drew Philomela from
the window-box, and concealing himself behind
his curtains, poured forth a melodious answer to
Crowfoot's calls. Then he stopped and listened.




THIRD YEAR


289


"There!" cried Crowfoot triumphantly. "I
knew I should get it to answer. Listen again!
Jug-jug-jug-jug-jug. "
He put his hand to his ear; David after a short
pause fluted an answer, and they had quite a
beautiful duet.
"One can always do that with birds and a little
patience," said Crowfoot. "I shall at once get
some groundsel. A pennyworth of groundsel
from the greengrocer's would go a long way. We
shall have them all over the place soon."
He hurried off, and Frank skipped up to
David's rooms. David's eloquent eye coupled
with the fact that the nightingale ceased when he
came out of his room, and instantly began again
when he got back, made it pretty certain that he
knew a smattering about nightingales.... As
usual they plunged straight into this subject of
current interest without wasting breath in saying
how pleased they were to see each other.
"David, you little devil, was it you?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," said David. "I say, you do
look brown! Oh my, how funny he was!"
"But did you plan it all? Did you get the nightingale and then sit at the window waiting for
Crowfoot to come?"
"No. All a fluke-a blessed, beautiful fluke,"
said David. "I got the nightingale because of
Bags ---"
"Get on-when's your Tripos result out?"
"To-morrow. Don't interrupt. You see Bags,
is taking his girl-Bags is madly in love, by the
way-to the gate into the Backs to-night to listen
to the nightingale, because she's never heard one.
So just in case there weren't any I thought that
sooner than disappoint them, I'd produce one. I
shall sit in a tree and sing and watch them spoon



2GO DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


ing. Do you think he's really gone to get some
groundsel?-Crowfoot."
"Yes, and a hard-boiled egg. Is there something in the air of King's that makes everyone
slightly cracked? Go on."
" Bags!-about Bags! " said David. "He's sick
with love, but can't bring himself up to the
scratch. So I thought I'd kill two birds with one
nightingale. She'll hear the nightingale, and the
moon and nightingales do ginger a felow up,
don't they? Just a little pipe, you see-aluminium gives the best tone-and some water and
me to blow. The young lady at the shop said it
was a Philomela."
"And you're making it a-a galeotto," said
Frank.
"Am I? What does it mean?"
"It means a pimp," said Frank.
"Oh, I see. Just to put it before them as an
idea. Quite. You never saw a man in such a
state as Bags. Dotty. Let's come down to the
gate and find a thick suitable bush for the gale
galeotto. No, I think we'll wait a bit first and
jaw, and see if Crowfoot brings the groundsel.
Going to the dance to-night?
"Lord, no; I hate dancing. We'll dine together."
"Rather. I say, those Tripos lists to-morrow.
Do you remember two years ago when you were in
for your archaelogical stunt? We picnicked the
day before at Byron's pool, and ants crawled over
me. Two blooming years ago! I should rather
like to say 'Encore' and have it all over again."
Frank came across to the window-seat.
"I wonder if you would say 'Encore' if you
knew you'd have it all over again," he said. "I




THIRD YEAR


291


rather doubt it. I think you want to get on, and
grow up and spread your wings."
He paused a moment, and laid his hand on
David's arm, which, lay conveniently along the
window-sill. David saw at once that they were
already on the subject on which he had written to
him one day at the Pitt. Frank's reticence had
filled him with vague misgivings, but that gesture
showed him that he need not have any about the
discussion of it.
"David, I got that letter of yours," he said.
"And you-you didn't mind? I was afraid you
did, as you didn't answer it. And I expect I put
it badly."
"No, it was pretty clear. But I knew I could
answer it better in talk. First thing is, that I knew
already what you said. You've grown up more in
this last year than in all the years we've known
each other. But it was much better that you
should find it out for yourself. Also much better
that, when you'd found it out, you should have
told me. I should have hated it if, when you'd
found it out, you had let me guess it."
"I nearly did," said David. "But then I had to
let you know. Beastly hard to explain, though."
"Well, I knew it before. You always were an
ass. You thought that I should always want you
to take my word for everything, and not to think
and choose for yourself. Didn't you?"
"About that," said David. "Sorry."
Frank's eyes began to twinkle.
"Granted, I'm sure," he said. "And then you
used to make an Al copper-bottomed hero of
me, you know, and I loved that. Who wouldn't
when he was so fond of anybody as I was of you?
That was games chiefly, and jolly good things they




292 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


are...  Oh, I forgot to ask. How's your
tennis?"
"Not so very bad," said David.
Frank shifted his position a little, and extended
his hand round the back of David's neck.
"David, old chap," he said quite gravely,
"we've had such a dam' good time-you know it
as well as I do-that all these years I've never
wanted it to be anything different to what it was.
But it belonged to boyhood, and now it has
changed; it couldn't possible help that. But as
for my disliking it, how could any decent fellow
dislike his friends growing up  We've loved each
other, thank God; I've been first in your life, and
you in mine. Soon now, I shouldn't wonder,
you'll meet a girl, and fall madly in love with her
and be frightfully happy, and you must think me
a pretty good stinkpot if you imagined I should
mind that. Very likely I shall do exactly the same.. Besides, our friendship is built into us. It's
all there...."
"That's all right then," said David quietly.
"I should just about think it was. I say, it
was a pretty good thing we met-eight years ago,
isn't it?-when you came down to Marchester to
try for a scholarship."
David leant his head back against Frank's
hand.
"I was a little scug," he said warmly.
"Yes, but not hopeless."
"Should have been if you hadn't whacked me
into shape more or less. Lord, I was keen on
you. Thought there'd never been anyone like
you-" David turned his head a little. "Nor
there ever was," he said.
A merry chirping sound of "jug-jug" came
from outside, and simultaneously they reversed




THIRD YEAR


293


themselves and peered through the flowers in the
window box.
"Too good to be true," whispered David,
"Gosh, where 's my Philomela?"
The incredible Crowfoot was flitting about with
a small bunch of groundsel in one hand, and a
saucer with hard-boiled egg chopped up fine in the
other. The saucer he tried to balance on the railings and it upset. He picked up the larger pieces
and restored them to the saucer, which he put on
the ground; the groundsel he strewed about the
grass. From time to time he looked brightly up
into the tree and said "jug-jug-jug" an incredible number of times. David replied with a few
polite and melodious phrases, but then so exploded with silent laughter that he blew all the
water out of Philomela's little cup. Crowfoot,
after trying in vain to entice more melody out
of the nightingale, looked at his watch, and went
away in a great hurry, clearing his throat.
David, when he had passed out of hearing,
laughed till he ached, and then became quite
serious again.
"That's a long jaw for us, Frank," he said.
"I know. Rather a record. We never did jaw
much to each other, except about books and games
and piffle."
"No. Case of understanding each other," said
David. "Besides, when one means anything
tremendously, one doesn't jaw. One has a cigarette, and says 'Blast.' Much the best plan. But
only friends can do it."
"I had to explain this time," said Frank. "You
didn't seem to have the faintest notion- "
"I know; but you've called me an ass for that.
I say, come out, and let's find a tree for my galeotto-stunt. "




294 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


They found an admirable tree, a thick-foliaged
yew obviously designed for galeottos, with a convenient bolt-hole at the back, so that if the enamoured couple showed any signs of wanting to
hear the nightingale at close quarters, that accomplished bird could slip away unseen. They
hatched a simple but effective signalling-system:
David, on the bridge, was to have Philomela ready
at halfpast ten, and Frank would be stationed at
the entrance of the marquee where dancing was in
progress. When the objects of all these arrangements emerged at the end of the first dance, Frank
would with a wave of his handkerchief (like
Isolde) signal that they had started towards the
bridge on their romantic expedition. David would
then have time to ensconce himself in the galeottobush, without having to wait indefinitely, perched
spikily in a rather precarious fork of the yew-tree.
Frank would follow down in the wake of the lovers, give one loud whistle to indicate that they had
passed the bridge, and that the music might begin.
He would then go quietly back to David's room to
await the arrival of the nightingale, after it had
done its best to aid and abet.
Isolde waved his large handkerchief and David
from his observation-post on the bridge hurried
down to the amorous rendezvous. A small cup,
Philomela, and a liniment-bottle washed out and
filled with water jingled in his pocket, and he
shinned up into his tree and gingerly seated himself in seclusion. Presently a whistle sounded,
and footsteps came along the path. In the deep
dusk of his densely screened perch he could not be
certain if they were the right ones, for Bags and
She, having crossed the bridge, might be lingering,
and the footsteps be those of others. But immediately he heard Bags's loud, silly laugh, highly




THIRD YEAR


295


charged with nervous excitement. That would not
do at all; Bags mustn't laugh on the threshold of
such a beautiful adventure, and Bags mustn't be
nervous. So to pull him together, Philomela sang
two or three short and stimulating phrases,
ravishing fragments, like a pianist running his
hands over the piano before he really began....
Apparently that had an excellent effect, for the
laughter ceased, and the footsteps, though still
approaching, were tiptoed for fear of frightening
the bird. Very soon they were opposite the tree,
and yet the embowered songster could catch no
glimpse of them. "Therefore," thought David,
"they can't see the embowered songster. Now
we'll give them what for."
He burst into full-throated melody of the most
superior aluminium tone; he bubbled and jugged
and whistled in a transport of judicious blowing.
Three lungfuls of song he gave them, and then,
for fear they should think that this was too much
of an "immortal bird," he stopped. A girl's
voice in an enraptured whisper answered him.
"Oh, but how perfectly lovely, Mr. Crabtree!"
she said. "How darling of it! I believe it's in
that yew-tree."
"Did you say 'yew-tree' or 'you and me'?"
asked Bags.... Such flippancy! Bags must be
serious and brave, thought Philomela.
"Oh, how silly you are!" said the girl. "Almost as silly as the things you told me about your
friend David. Do be quiet. I'm sure it's in that
tree. Delicious bird!"
"I'll pay you out for that," thought David.
"And what the deuce does she mean by calling
me by my Christian name? If I said 'Yes,
Ida    ' But let's get on."
David made it quite clear that the delicious bird




296 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


was where she thought it. He poured forth a
fresh torrent of melody.
" Oh, I could listen for ever," said Ida.
"So could I," said Bags, "if you were here."
The nightingale applauded this statement. That
was what it was here for.
"But I would sooner hear you talk than listen
to a nightingale, " said Bags when the song ceased
again.
David gave them another stave. He had expected that his galeotto-stunt would be the most
killing joke, but now he found that he didn't feel
'the least amused. There was something serious
and beautiful going on, and he had imagined it
would be merely funny. And then immediately he
heard Bags's voice again. It must be Bags's voice
because there was no one else there, but it wobbled
and croaked in a manner that made it quite unrecognisable.
"Ida," he said, "Miss Malcolm-no, Ida, I
wonder if you could possibly think of-well, think
of me at all. You're absolutely the most adorable
David hastily put down Philomela's cup between his legs, and stopped his ears, just as he did
when he was singing glees. Whatever Bags was
saying, whatever Ida might answer, wasn't for
him at all. It wasn't fun to hear them "spooning," as he had anticipated; it was too dreadful
that he should be eavesdropping. He had only
meant to be an encouraging bird, but he felt he
would become an awful cad, if he listened. All the
same, the nightingale seemed to have been pretty
useful...
When he unstopped his ears, they had moved a
dozen yards away up the path. He pressed the
branches of the yew apart, in order to see when




THIRD YEAR


297


the coast was clear for the descent of the nightingale, and saw them moving slowly and very close
together towards the bridge. Once they stopped
and turned, as if listening for more music, but it
really looked as if they had had sufficient. When
they walked on again, it was quite clear that
Bags's arm was round her waist, and David
dropped down from his perch, and proceeded
cautiously till they crossed the bridge and turned
off where the path ran alongside the river. So he
went back to his room and found Frank.
"Gosh! There never was such a galeotto," he
said. "Powerfullest galeotto ever recorded. I
hadn't sung more than three minutes when Bags
got bang in the middle of the track. Took a
header! Splash!"
"What did she say?" asked Frank.
"Don't know. I had to stop my ears."
"What for?"
"You'd have understood if you'd been there.
It suddenly became frightfully private. Bags's
voice croaked like a frog, and had an awful wobble
in it, sort of bleat, like that stop on the organ'Vox humana,' isn't it?-that sounds like nothing human at all. Well, Bags was just like Vox
humana amorosa. It sounded too killing, but I
didn't want to laugh a bit. I just stopped my ears
in order to hear nothing more of it. I want a
drink. It's thirsty work being a nightingale. But
I believe I've done Bags a good turn. Lord, how
they admired my voice! I felt like a prima donna
singing 'Home, sweet home.' They ought to have
handed me up large wreaths and bouquets, and
I'd have smiled and kissed my hand, and sung
some more -"
"David, you're a pimp," said Frank.
"Devilish good profession for once. But fancy




298  DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
needing to be bucked up by an aluminium pimp in
a yew-tree, when you'd got your girl all to yourself in the dark.... "
David and Frank sat up till some timeless hour,
for it was really very little use going to bed while
the band at the dance blared on; but probably they
would not have parted any sooner if there had
been no dance in King's at all. There was a lot
to say, and food for silence in between, and what
not. In consequence David slept late next morning and had a violent dream about an earthquake,
which resolved itself into the banging of his outer
door. Bags burst in.
"I'm engaged," he said, and broke into that
loud, silly laugh which had annoyed the nightingale last night.
"Oh, I say, how ripping!" said David, sitting
up. "Congratters. You won't be such a bore
now. How did it happen?"
Bags sat down on his bed and embraced David's
knees.
"I don't know how it happened," he said. "It
just happened. We just strolled down across the
bridge, and just then —"
"If you say 'just' any more, I shall scream,"
said David.
"Don't be so beastly. And just-no, and before
we got to the back gate one began. Nightingale,
I mean. Ida had never heard a nightingale before.
Oh, my God, you never heard anything so beautiful. It was in a big yew-tree, and we never saw it
at all. She was frightfully taken with it. It was
absolutely divine, and we're going to listen again
to-night. David, do attend; don't bury your face
like that."




THIRD YEAR


299


"I am attending," said David. He pulled himself together and raised his head.
"Well, you were quite right. It did buck me up
like anything. It sounded as if it was singing at
me to go ahead. Have you ever heard a nightingale? Really listened, I mean? I felt as if it was
put there to shout at me 'Get on: it'll be all
right!' "
"Just what I always told you," said David.
"Well, you did happen to be right. But if
you'd jawed for ever, you wouldn't have bucked
me up like that blessed bird."
David couldn't stand such injustice.
"I bet you I helped to buck you up," he said.
"You're an ungrateful swine, Bags."
"No, I'm not. You only yawned and laughed
at me. I always felt worse than ever after I'd
been talking to you."
"So did I," said David. "If it had gone on
much longer, I should have hated you. Well?"
Bags's rather goat-like face assumed an expression of radiant imbecility.
"Nightingales are always supposed to say'Jugjug,' "he said. "What they really say is 'Lovelove.' "
"Oh, I shall be sick," said David.
"But they do," said Bags. "You don't know.
How can you know?"
("Aluminium, three and six; superior tone,"
thought David.)
Bags gave a sort of bleat.
"Well, I listened," he said. "And then all of a
sudden I knew. And I asked her, and she said
'Yes,' and I'm cracked with happiness."
"Good old Bags," said David, "I'm awfully
glad."
"Thanks, and I had to come and tell you. It




300 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


was partly your doing, too, another way round.
If it hadn't been for you I should have gone on
mucking about and messing round ---"
"No, you wouldn't. You'd soon have seen what
a rotten game it was. I say, I must get up."
"Right. I just had to come round and tell you.
You are a brick, David. Lunch at half past one,
and you 'l see her."
The news had been so thrilling that not till
David was in his bath did he remember that at
ten o'clock precisely, in an hour from now, the
Tripos lists would be read out. At that thought,
though the cigarette between bath and breakfast
was the most fragrant of the day, it suddenly
tasted like "odour of poisonous brass and metal
sick," and he threw it, scarcely begun, into his
basin, where it spread itself among soapsuds like
strands of brown seaweed.
And then all the malicious deities of inanimate
nature awoke. He dropped his tooth-brush into
the water where the soaked cigarette lay, and the
bristles got threaded with limp strings of tobacco
and pieces of soaked paper. His collar-stud, after
splitting his thumb-nail, came in half, and when he
thought he had successfully screwed the two mean
pieces of bone together, and buttoned his collar
and tied his tie, it came in half again, and he had
to take off his tie and unbutton his collar. Then
the lower disc of it slipped down inside his shirt,
and he had to execute a sad dance till it rolled out
of his trouser-leg. He could not find another stud,
so he tried to put the two pieces together again
with sealing-wax, and dropped a flaming blob of
it on the back of his hand. This, as is well known,
is far more painful than anything that ever happened to early Christian martyrs, but it is not
mitigated by the ardent faith which rendered their




THIRD YEAR


301


sufferings so much more tolerable. However, the
stud, when cool, seemed to hold, but the split edge
of his nail caught in the fabric of his tie and set
all his teeth on edge. Since the injury was on his
right hand, he could not trim it with his left, for
the scissors, instead of cutting, shut down sideways. Then his shoe-lace broke, and after bending down to tie the sundered ends together, he
found that he must have cut himself shaving under his chin, for the edge of his collar was stained
with blood.
David decided that the best thing to do was to
have breakfast and finish dressing afterwards, for
whatever torturing misfortunes fate holds, they
are less shattering after food, and especially after
hot, sweet, strong tea. But, thinking of the Tripos, he forgot to put any tea-leaves in the pot, and
poured a stream of crystal-clear water on to the
four lumps of sugar he had put in his cup. And
his egg leaked at the bottom, and all the good
strengthening food inside it ran out into the eggcup. Between whiles he licked the raw place on
the back of his hand where the molten wax had
burned him.
It will hardly be credited that another disaster,
as appalling as any, awaited him, but so it was.
A drop of marmalade fell from the loaded toast
he was carrying to his mouth, between his wrist
and his shirt-cuff. He tried to wipe it off, but it
was no use; if he turned his hand an inch, he felt
the cloying stickiness. This broke him up altogether, and he gave one despairing cry and rose
from the table. He had had to change his bloody
collar already, and now he must change his shirt
as well, and he had had no true breakfast, and his
thumb-nail was like a hook of which the barb was
embedded in his flesh, and the Tripos list was to




302 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


be read out at ten. It seemed as if all the powers
of darkness were sent to chasten and subdue him
into a state of mind sufficiently humiliated to receive the final blow at ten o'clock. Of all the
mornings he had ever known, this was the beastliest, and if at that moment a tooth had begun to
ache, he would not, as Lord Tennyson observed,
"have found it to be strange."
It was better to sit quiet for a minute or two,
so that the malignant powers might think he was
quite flattened out, and so pass on to other victims; clearly to do anything at all during this assault was to court disaster. So he sat down softly
on the window-seat, wondering why people in distress were always supposed to "fling themselves"
on to chairs and sofas and floors, and said "Hell"
under his breath at short intervals.... Presently
there was the sound of the window below his being
thrown open, and David remembered that Tommers had come up last night for the King's ball,
and was lodged in his old room immediately below.
Tommers confirmed his presence by shouting out
"Blazes... David... Son of Jesse" in the
usual manner.
David felt too depressed to give any cheerful
response, but he peered cautiously out through the
window-box, and saw the back of Tommers's black
head immediately below. For one moment he
thought of getting him to come up and cut his
thumb-nail for him, but before he answered, his
eyes happened to fall on the egg-cup which contained the whole beautiful contents (minus one
spoonful) of a soft-boiled egg.
"God hates me this morning for some unknown
reason," he thought, "but at any rate I can pass
some of it on."
One step took him to his table, and another back




THIRD YEAR


303


to the window again, and carefully aligning Tommers's head he emptied the egg-cup on to it. Tommers was already beginning to grow a little bald
in the manner of a tonsure, and the contents of the
egg-cup fell on that very spot. "It droppeth like
the gentle dew from heaven," thought David, as
he saw Tommers's hand clapped to the place, and
withdrawn covered with cold yolk of egg and little
bits of shell, and heard one magnificent outburst
of Elizabethan vexation.... So he crossed the
room and softly sported his outer door, so that in
case Tommers came upstairs (which seemed
highly likely) it would look as if David had gone
out or wasn't up yet and could not possibly be
responsible for this extraordinary occurrence.
David's spirits rose, and he proceeded to change
his bloody collar and his sticky shirt with a reviving cheerfulness. Soon there came the thump
of angry footsteps on the stairs, and Tommers
battered at his closed door and said rude loud
things. Not a sound came from within, and David,
remembering that he was to lunch with fascinating
females, put on his smart new Zingari tie and a
shirt with a gay stripe in it. The contrast, of
course, of his own case with Tommers's bucked
him up, for of all the beastly things that had happened to him that morning there was none that
could really compare with having a cold soft egg
plump itself down in the middle of your baldness.
Not all the malignancy of Providence had invented for him such a nasty fate as he had invented for Tommers.
Life, thought David (beginning to construct an
elegant English sentence), was full of deceptions
and tangled webs, and its crazy confusion made it
very difficult to remember all the things you had
to forget. For instance, he had to remember to




304 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S


forget that he had been a nightingale when he
was talking not to Bags only, but also to Crowfoot,
who might be expected round again this morning
with some more hard-boiled egg. And, thinking
of eggs, he must remember never to have heard of
such a thing as a soft-boiled one when talking to
Tommers.... Then with a sinking of the heart
he saw that in ten minutes he must start for the
Senate-house, and after that he would probably
have to forget that he had taken a miserably bad
degree, and try to be cheerful at lunch. Bags
would certainly give them champagne at lunch, by
way of being festive and engaged, and champagne
at lunch, though quite irresistible, always produced in David a feverish torpor and a dry
mouth (he had got that already with thinking of
the lists), and he would be expected to be bright,
and to stagger round the sights of Cambridge,
with Mrs. Malcolm and the other Miss Malcolm,
while Bags and His Own walked behind and got
separated from them and were found kissing each
other in a side-chapel.... Well, Bags was happy,
anyhow.
And now it was time to go to the Senate-house,
and to do that it was necessary to pass Tommers's
room without attracting his notice, or so fast that
he couldn't be stopped. David chose the first line
of tactics, and so, when he was dressed, he let himself out very quietly and tip-toed downstairs with
his shoes in his hand. He saw, while still a few
steps above Tommers's landing, that his door was
ajar, which looked rather ominous, but he had
only just begun to guess how ominous it was, when
it flew wide open, and a soaking bath-sponge hit
him in the face, and a piece of Windsor-soap
rapped him smartly on the nose, and tennis-balls
and oranges and things darkened the air. He




THIRD YEAR


305


gave one loud scream, and hurling his two shoes
one after the other through the open door, to drive
the enemy off, leaped in after them.
Tommers, like a sound strategist, had ambushed
himself behind the door, as the two shoes flew by,
and sprang on David from behind, grasping him
firmly round the arms. If he had only tripped
him up at once, all would have been well, but that
moment's dilatoriness enabled David, though
pinioned, to pick up a siphon and discharge its
exhilarating contents over his shoulder into Tommers's face. Some, of course, went down his own
neck, and Tommers, letting go of him with one
hand, thrust a spoonful of brown sugar down
after it. David picked up a sofa cushion and held
it tight round Tommers's face, with the intention
of smothering him, and Tommers got hold of his
nice Zingari tie, and pulled the slip-knot tight.
For fear of strangulation David had to let go of
the cushion and get his neck free, and then they
fell on each other, and wrestled, and things were
spilt and a chair broke, and they rolled about on
the floor till exhaustion set in.
"And all because of what?" panted David, as
he lay on the hearthrug beside the inert Tommers.
"Egg," said Tommers feebly.
David could just manage to laugh between his
sobbing breaths.
"Perfect shot, wasn't it?" he said. "Lucky,
but perfect."
"But why did you do it?" asked Tommers.
"Because I was suffering. Bootlaces, collarstuds, sealing-wax, tea, thumb-nail-every blooming thing had conspired against me."
"But what had I done?" asked Tommers.
"WVhy bring me in?"




306 DAVID BLAIZE OF KING'S
"I had to. Couldn't bear it alone," said David.
"Why am I so sticky down the back."
"Syphon and sugar I shouldn't wonder," said
Tommers. "It gets gluey."
David jumped up.
"Oh, you shouldn't have done it," he said.
"That'll be my third shirt to-day. And I've got
to go to the Senate-house to hear Tripos lists at
ten."
" Ten?" said Tommers. "It's ten ten now."
From outside came Frank's voice.
"David! Hi! David!" he shouted.
David ran to the window; perhaps Frank had
been there.
"I say, did you go to the Senate-house?" he
cried. "What's happened?"
"Yes, I looked in. They were reading out some
old Tripos. Dull work."
"Oh, get on," said David.
"Why such a hurry? King's did pretty rottenly. Two second-class and a few thirds-"
"Oh, which is it?" said David.
"Don't interrupt. Two seconds and some thirds
and one first."
"W-w-what?" said David, suddenly stammering...


THE END








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