Ravenshoe

  CHAPTER VIII.

  JOHN MARSTON.

  Charles returned to his room, a little easier in his mind than when heleft it. There still remained one dreadful business to get over--theworst of all; that of letting his father know. Non-University men sneerat rustication; they can't see any particular punishment in having toabsent yourself from your studies for a term or two. But do they thinkthat the Dons don't know what they are about? Why, nine spirited youngfellows out of ten would snap their fingers at rustication, if it wasn'tfor the _home_ business. It is breaking the matter to the father, hisjust anger, and his mother's still more bitter reproaches. It must allcome out, the why and the wherefore, without concealment or palliation.The college write a letter to justify themselves, and then a mine ofdeceit is sprung under the parents' feet, and their eyes are opened tothings they little dreamt of. This, it appears, is not the firstoffence. The college has been long-suffering, and has pardoned when itshould have punished repeatedly. The lad who was thought to be doing sowell has been leading a dissipated, riotous life, and deceiving themall. This is the bitterest blow they have ever had. How can they trusthim again?--And so the wound takes long to heal, and sometimes is neverhealed at all. That is the meaning of rustication.

  A majority of young fellows at the University deceive their parents,especially if they come of serious houses. It is almost forced upon themsometimes, and in all cases the temptation is strong. It is very unwiseto ask too many questions. Home questions are, in some cases,unpardonable. A son can't tell a father, as one man can tell another, tomind his own business. No. The father asks the question suddenly, andthe son lies, perhaps, for the first time in his life. If he told thetruth, his father would knock him down.

  Now Charles was a little better off than most young fellows in thisrespect. He knew his father would scold about the rustication, and stillmore at his being in debt. He wasn't much afraid of his father's anger.They two had always been too familiar to be much afraid of one another.He was much more afraid of the sarcasms of Mackworth, and he not alittle dreaded his brother; but with regard to his father he felt butslight uneasiness.

  He found his scout and his servant William trying to get the room intosome order, but it was hopeless. William looked up with a blank face ashe came in, and said--

  "We can't do no good, sir; I'd better go for Herbert's man, I suppose?"

  "You may go, William," said Charles, "to the stables, and prepare myhorses for a journey. Ward, you may pack up my things, as I go downto-morrow. I am rusticated."

  They both looked very blank, especially William, who, after a longpause, said--

  "I was afraid of something happening yesterday after Hall, when I see mylord----" here William paused abruptly, and, looking up, touched hishead to some one who stood in the doorway.

  It was a well-dressed, well-looking young man of about Charles's age,with a handsome, hairless, florid face, and short light hair. Handsomethough his face was, it was hardly pleasing in consequence of a certainlowering of the eyebrows which he indulged in every moment--as often,indeed, as he looked at any one--and also of a slight cynical curl atthe corners of the mouth. There was nothing else noticeable about LordWelter except his appearance of great personal strength, for which hewas somewhat famous.

  "Hallo, Welter!" shouted Charles, "yesterday was an era in the annals ofintoxication. Nobody ever was so drunk as you. I did all I could foryou, more fool I, for things couldn't be worse than they are, and mightbe better. If I had gone to bed instead of looking after you, Ishouldn't have been rusticated."

  "I'm deuced sorry, Charley, I am, 'pon my soul. It is all my confoundedfolly, and I shall write to your father and say so. You are coming homewith me, of course?"

  "By Jove, I never thought of it. That wouldn't be a bad plan, eh? Imight write from Ranford, you know. Yes, I think I'll say yes. William,you can take the horses over to-morrow. That is a splendid idea ofyours. I was thinking of going to London."

  "Hang London in the hunting season," said Lord Welter. "By George, howthe governor will blow up. I wonder what my grandmother will say.Somebody has told her the world is coming to an end next year. I hopethere'll be another Derby. She has cut homoeopathy and taken tovegetable practice. She has deuced near slaughtered her maid with anoverdose of Linum Catharticum, as she calls it. She goes digging aboutin waste places like a witch, with a big footman to carry the spade. Sheis a good old body, though; hanged if she ain't."

  "What does Adelaide think of the change in Lady Ascot's opinions,medical and religious?"

  "She don't care, bless you. She laughs about the world coming to an end,and as for the physic, she won't stand that. She has pretty much her ownway with the old lady, I can tell you, and with every one else, as faras that goes. She is an imperious little body; I'm afraid of her.--Howdo, Marston?"

  This was said to a small, neatly-dressed, quiet-looking man, with ashrewd, pleasant face, who appeared at this moment, looking very grave.He returned Welter's salutation, and that gentleman sauntered out of theroom, after having engaged Charles to dinner at the Cross at six. Thenew comer then sat down by Charles, and looked sorrowfully in his face.

  "So it has come to this, my poor boy," said he, "and only two days afterour good resolutions. Charley, do you know what Issachar was like?"

  "No."

  "He was like a strong ass stooping between two burdens," replied theother, laughing. "I know somebody who is, oh, so very like him. I knowa fellow who could do capitally in the schools and in the world, who isnow always either lolling about reading novels, or else flying off inthe opposite extreme, and running, or riding, or rowing like a madman.Those are his two burdens, and he is a dear old ass also, whom it isvery hard to scold, even when one is furiously angry with him."

  "It's all true, Marston; it's all true as Gospel," said Charles.

  "Look how well you did at Shrewsbury," continued Marston, "when you wereforced to work. And now, you haven't opened a book for a year. Why don'tyou have some object in life, old fellow? Try to be captain of theUniversity Eight or the Eleven; get a good degree; anything. Think oflast Easter vacation, Charley. Well, then, I won't----Be sure thatpot-house work won't do. What earthly pleasure can there be in herdingwith men of that class, your inferiors in everything except strength?and you can talk quite well enough for any society?"

  "It ain't my fault," broke in Charles, piteously. "It's a good deal morethe fault of the men I'm with. That Easter vacation business was plannedby Welter. He wore a velveteen shooting-coat and knee-breeches, andcalled himself----"

  "That will do, Charley; I don't want to hear any of that gentleman'sperformances. I entertain the strongest personal dislike for him. Heleads you into all your mischief. You often quarrel; why don't you breakwith him?"

  "I can't."

  "Because he is a distant relation? Nonsense. Your brother never speaksto him."

  "It isn't that."

  "Do you owe him money?"

  "No, it's the other way, by Jove! I can't break with that man. I can'tlose the run of Ranford. I must go there. There's a girl there I careabout more than all the world beside; if I don't see her I shall gomad."

  Marston looked very thoughtful. "You never told me of this," he said;"and she has--she has refused you, I suppose?"

  "Ay! how did you guess that?"

  "By my mother wit. I didn't suppose that Charles Ravenshoe would havegone on as he has under other circumstances."

  "I fell in love with her," said Charley, rocking himself to and fro,"when she was a child. I have never had another love but her; and thelast time I left Ranford I asked her--you know--and she laughed in myface, and said we were getting too old for that sort of nonsense. Andwhen I swore I was in earnest, she only laughed the more. And I'm adesperate beggar, by Jove, and I'll go and enlist, by Jove."

  "What a brilliant idea!" said Marston. "Don't be a fool, Charley. Isthis girl a great lady?"

  "Great lady! Lord bless you, no; she's a dependant without a sixpence."

  "Begi
n all over again with her. Let her alone a little. Perhaps you tooktoo much for granted, and offended her. Very likely she has got tired ofyou. By your own confession, you have been making love to her for tenyears; that must be a great bore for a girl, you know. I suppose you arethinking of going to Ranford now?"

  "Yes, I am going for a time."

  "The worst place you could go to; much better go home to your father.Yours is a quiet, staid, wholesome house; not such a bear-garden as theother place--but let us change the subject. I am sent after you."

  "By whom?"

  "Musgrave. The University Eight is going down, and he wants you to rowfour. The match with Cambridge is made up."

  "Oh, hang it!" said poor Charles; "I can't show after this business. Geta waterman; do, Marston. They will know all about it by this time."

  "Nay, I want you to come; do come, Charles. I want you to contrast thesemen with the fellows you were with last night, and to see what effectthree such gentlemen and scholars as Dixon, Hunt, and Smith have inraising the tone of the men they are thrown among."

  On the barge Charles met the others of the Eight--quiet, staid,gentlemanly men, every one of whom knew what had happened, and was morethan usually polite in consequence. Musgrave, the captain, received himwith manly courtesy. He was sorry to hear Ravenshoe was going down--hadhoped to have had him in the Eight at Easter; however, it couldn't behelped; hoped to get him at Henley; and so on. The others were verycourteous too, and Charles soon began to find that he himself wastalking in a different tone of voice, and using different language fromthat which he would have been using in his cousin's rooms; and heconfessed this to Marston that night.

  Meanwhile the University Eight, with the little blue flag at her bows,went rushing down the river on her splendid course. Past heavy bargesand fairy skiffs; past men in dingys, who ran high and dry on the bankto get out of the way; and groups of dandys, who ran with them for atime. And before any man was warm--Iffley. Then across the broadmill-pool and through the deep crooks, out into the broads, and past thewithered beds of reeds which told of coming winter. Bridges, and arushing lasher--Sandford. No rest here. Out of the dripping well-likelock. Get your oars out and away again, past the yellowing willows, pastthe long wild grey meadows, swept by the singing autumn wind. Throughthe swirling curves and eddies, onward under the westering sun towardsthe woods of Nuneham.

  It was so late when they got back, that those few who had waited forthem--those faithful few who would wait till midnight to see the Eightcome in--could not see them, but heard afar off the measured throb andrush of eight oars as one, as they came with rapid stroke up thedarkening reach. Charles and Marston walked home together.

  "By George," said Charles, "I should like to do that and nothing elseall my life. What a splendid stroke Musgrave gives you, so marked, andso long, and yet so lively. Oh, I should like to be forced to row everyday like the watermen."

  "In six or seven years you would probably row as well as a waterman. Atleast, I mean, as well as some of the second-rate ones. I have set mybrains to learn steering, being a small weak man; but I shall neversteer as well as little Tims, who is ten years old. Don't mistake ameans for an end--"

  Charles wouldn't always stand his friend's good advice, and he thoughthe had had too much of it to-day. So he broke out into sudden andfurious rebellion, much to Marston's amusement, who treasured up everyword he said in his anger, and used them afterwards with fearful effectagainst him.

  "I don't care for you," bawled Charles; "you're a greater fool than Iam, and be hanged to you. You're going to spend the best years of yourlife, and ruin your health, to get a first. _A first! A first!_ Why thatmiserable little beast, Lock, got a first. A fellow who is, take him allin all, the most despicable little wretch I know! If you are verydiligent you may raise yourself to _his_ level! And when you have gotyour precious first, you will find yourself utterly unfit for any tradeor profession whatever (except the Church, which you don't mean toenter). What do you know about modern languages or modern history? Ifyou go into the law, you have got to begin all over again. They won'ttake you in the army; they are not such _muffs_. And this is what youget for your fifteen hundred pounds!"

  Charles paused, and Marston clapped his hands and said, "hear, _hear_!"which made him more angry still.

  "I shouldn't care if I _was_ a waterman. I'm sick of all thispretension and humbug; I'd sooner be anything than what I am, with mydebts, and my rustication, and keeping up appearances. I wish I was abilliard marker; I wish I was a jockey; I wish I was Alick Reed'sNovice; I wish I was one of Barclay and Perkins's draymen. Hang it! Iwish I was a cabman! Queen Elizabeth was a wise woman, and she was of myopinion."

  "Did Queen Elizabeth wish she was a cabman?" asked Marston, gravely.

  "No, she didn't," said Charles, very tartly. "She wished she was amilkmaid, and I think she was quite right. Now, then."

  "So you would like to be a milkmaid?" said the inexorable Marston. "Youhad better try another Easter vacation with Welter. Mrs. Sherrat willget you a suit of cast-off clothes from some of the lads. Here's the'Cross,' where you dine. Bye, bye!"

  John Marston knew, and knew well, nearly every one worth knowing in theUniversity. He did not appear particularly rich; he was not handsome; hewas not brilliant in conversation; he did not dress well, though he wasalways neat; he was not a cricketer, a rower, or a rider; he never spokeat the Union; he never gave large parties; no one knew anything abouthis family; he never betted; and yet he was in the best set in theUniversity.

  There was, of course, some reason for this; in fact, there were threegood and sufficient reasons, although above I may seem to have exhaustedthe means of approach to good University society. First, He had been toEton as a town boy, and had been popular there. Second, He had got oneof the great open scholarships. And third, His behaviour had always beenmost correct and gentlemanly.

  A year before this he had met Charles as a freshman in Lord Welter'srooms, and had conceived a great liking for him. Charles had just comeup with a capital name from Shrewsbury, and Marston hoped that he wouldhave done something; but no. Charles took up with riding, rowing,driving, &c., &c., not to mention the giving and receiving of parties,with all the zest of a young fellow with a noble constitution, enoughmoney, agreeable manners, and the faculty of excelling to a certainextent in every sport he took in hand.

  He very soon got to like and respect Marston. He used to allow him toblow him up, and give him good advice when he wouldn't take it from anyone else. The night before he went down Marston came to his rooms, andtried to persuade him to go home, and not to "the training stables," ashe irreverently called Ranford; but Charles had laughed and laughed, andjoked, and given indirect answers, and Marston saw that he wasdetermined, and discontinued pressing him.