CHAPTER IV
AN UNDERSTUDY
"_The indulgence of the audience is asked on behalf of Miss Joan Gaymer, who, owing to the sudden indisposition of Miss Mildred Freshwater, has taken up that lady's part at very short notice._"
A couple of hours later Hughie, roaring very gently for so great a lion,was engaged in paddling a Canadian canoe down to Ditton Corner.
The canoe contained one passenger, who, with feminine indifference tothe inflexible laws of science, was endeavouring to assist its progressby paddling in the wrong direction. Her small person, propped byconvenient cushions, was wedged into the bow of the vessel, and herwhite frock and attenuated black legs were protected from the results ofher own efforts at navigation by a spare blazer of Hughie's. Her hat layon the floor of the canoe, half-full of cherries, and her long hairrippled and glimmered in the afternoon sun. Miss Joan Gaymer would be abeauty some day, but for the present all knowledge of that fact wasbeing tactfully withheld from her. To do her justice, the prospect wouldhave interested her but little. Like most small girls of eleven, shedesired nothing so much at present as to resemble a small boy as closelyas possible. She would rather have captured one bird's-nest than twentyhearts, and appearances she counted as dross provided she could hold herown in a catherine-wheel competition.
They were rather a silent couple. Joan was filled with that contentmentwhich is beyond words. She was wearing a new frock; she had escapedunder an escort almost exclusively male--if we except the benevolentdespotism of Mrs. Ames--from home, nurse, and governess, to attend aseries of purely grown-up functions; and to crown all, she was alone inthe canoe, a light-blue blazer spread over her knees, with one whorepresented to her small experience the head and summit of all that aman should--nay, could--be.
"I expect," she remarked, in a sudden burst of exultation, as the canoeslid past two gorgeously arrayed young persons who were seated by thewater's edge, "that those two are pretty sorry they're not in this canoewith us."
The ladies referred to arose and walked inland with some deliberation.Hughie did not answer. His brow was knitted and his manner somewhatabsent.
"Hughie," announced Miss Gaymer reproachfully, "you are looking verycross at me."
She had a curiously gruff and hoarse little voice, and suffered inaddition from inability to pronounce those elusive consonants _r_ and_l_. So she did not say "very cross," but "ve'y c'oss," in a deep bass.
Hughie roused himself.
"Sorry, Joey!" he said; "I was thinking."
"Sec'ets?" inquired Miss Gaymer, all agog with femininity at once.
"No."
"Oh,"--rather disappointedly. "About your old boat, then?"
"Yes," said Hughie untruthfully. "Do you quite understand how we race?"
"I _think_ so," said the child. "Your boat is second, and it wants tobump into the boat in f'ont--is that it?"
"Yes."
"Well, do it just when you pass us, will you?"
"I'll try," said Hughie, beginning to brighten up. "But it may takelonger than that. About the Railway Bridge, I should think."
"And after the race will _you_ take me home again?" inquired the ladyanxiously.
"Can't be done, I'm afraid. The race finishes miles from Ditton, whereyou will be; and I shouldn't be able to get back in time. You had betterdrive home with the others."
"When shall I see you again, then?" demanded Miss Gaymer, who was not ofan age to be reticent about the trend of her virgin affections.
"About seven. You are all coming to dine in my rooms."
"Ooh!" exclaimed his companion in a flutter of excitement. "How long canI sit up?"
"Ask Mrs. Ames," replied the diplomatic Hughie.
"Till _ten_?" hazarded Joey, with the air of one initiating a Dutchauction.
"Don't ask _me_, old lady."
"Supposing," suggested Miss Gaymer craftily, "that you was to say youwanted me to sit up and keep you company?"
Hughie laughed. "Afraid that wouldn't work. I have to go out about nineto a Bump Supper."
"What's that?"
"A College supper, in honour of the men who have been rowing."
"I like suppers," said Miss Gaymer tentatively.
Hughie smiled. "I don't think you'd like this one, Joey," he said.
"Why? Don't they have any sixpences or thimbles in the t'ifle?" saidMiss Gaymer, in whose infant mind the word supper merely conjured up avision of sticky children, wearing paper caps out of crackers,distending themselves under adult supervision.
"I don't think they _have_ any trifle."
"Perfectly p'eposte'ous!" commented Miss Gaymer with heat. (I think ithas already been mentioned that she spent a good deal of her time in thecompany of Jimmy Marrable.) "Ices?"
"Let me see. Yes--sometimes."
"Ah!" crooned Joey, with a happy little sigh. "_Can't_ I come?"
"Afraid not, madam. Bump Suppers are for gentlemen only."
"I should like that," said madam frankly.
"And they are rather noisy. You might get frightened."
"Not if I was sitting alongside of you," was the tender reply.
Joey's anxiety for his company renewed Hughie's depression of spirits.Admiration and confidence are very desirable tributes to receive; butwhen they come from every quarter save the right one the desirability ofthat quarter is only intensified. Poor human nature! Hughie sighed againin a manner which caused the entire canoe to vibrate. Miss Gaymersuddenly turned the conversation.
"What was that person talking to you about, Hughie?" she inquired.
"Who?"
"That person that came with us in the t'ain. Miss--" Joey's mouthtwisted itself into a hopeless tangle.
"Freshwater?" said Hughie, reddening.
"Yes. When you were taking us round the Co'ege after lunch you and herstayed behind on the top of the Chapel, while the rest of us were comingdown. When I was waiting for you, I heard her say: 'You're the first tohear of it, Hughie.' To hear of what?"
Hughie looked genuinely disturbed.
"I don't know whether she wants it known yet, Joey," he said.
Miss Gaymer assumed an expression before which she knew that mostgentlemen of her acquaintance, from Uncle Jimmy down to the coachman athome, were powerless.
"Hughie dear, you'll tell _me_, won't you?" she said.
Hughie, making a virtue of necessity, agreed.
"Well, promise you won't tell anybody," he said.
"All right," agreed Miss Gaymer, pleasantly intrigued.
"She's going to be married," said Hughie, in a voice which heendeavoured to make as matter-of-fact as possible. It was not a verysuccessful effort. At twenty-one these things hurt quite as much, if notso lastingly, as in later life.
"I'm ve'y g'ad to hear it," remarked Miss Gaymer with composure.
Hughie looked at the small flushed face before him rather curiously.
"Why, Joey?" he asked.
"Never mind!" replied Miss Gaymer primly.
After that the conversation languished, for they were approaching therace-course, and boats of every size and rig were thronging round them.There was the stately family gig, with an academic and myopicpaterfamilias at the helm and his numerous progeny at the oars, sweepingthe deep of surrounding craft like Van Tromp's broom. There was thetypical May Week argosy, consisting of a rowing-man's mother andsisters, left in the care of two or three amorous but unnauticalcricketers, what time their relative performed prodigies of valour inthe Second Division. There was also a particularly noisome home-mademotor-boat,--known up and down the river from Grantchester to Ely as"The Stinkpot,"--about the size of a coffin, at present occupied (in thefullest sense of the word) by its designer, builder, and owner; who,packed securely into his craft, with his feet in a pile of small coal,the end of the boiler in the pit of his stomach, and the engines workingat fever heat between his legs, was combining the duties of stoker,engineer, helmsman, and finally (with conspic
uous success) director oframming operations.
Through these various obstacles Hughie, despite the assistance of hispassenger, directed his canoe with unerring precision, and finallybrought up with all standing beside the piles at Ditton. He experiencedno difficulty in making arrangements for the return journey of thecanoe, for a gentleman of his acquaintance begged to be allowed theprivilege of navigating it home, pleading internal pressure in his owncraft as the reason. Hughie granted the boon with alacrity, merelywondering in his heart which of the three languishing damsels plantedround his friend's tea-urn he had to thank for the deliverance.
They found the fly in a good position close to the water, with the restof the party drinking tea, and meekly wondering when the heroes whodotted the landscape in various attitudes of nervousness woulddisencumber themselves of their gorgeous trappings and get to business.Hughie deposited Joan beside a mountain of buns and a fountain of tea,and, after expressing a hope that every one was getting on all right,announced that the Second Division might be expected to paddle down atany moment now.
This statement involved a chorus of questions regarding thetechnicalities of rowing, which that model of utility, Mr. Lunn, hadconfessed himself unable to answer, and which had accordingly been heldover till Hughie's arrival.
Hughie's rather diffident impersonation of Sir Oracle, and his intricateexplanation of the exact difference between bucketing and tubbing(listened to with respectful interest by surrounding tea-parties), wassuddenly interrupted by a small but insistent voice, which besought himto turn the tap off and look pretty for a moment.
There was a shout of laughter, and Hughie turned round, to find that oneof those privileged and all too inveterate attendants upon the modernathlete, a photographer, was (with the assistance of a megaphone)maintaining a reputation for humorous offensiveness, at his expense, onthe towpath opposite.
After this the Second Division paddled down to the start, arrayed incolours which would have relegated such competitors as King Solomon andthe lilies of the field to that euphemistic but humiliating categoryindicated by the formula "Highly Commended." Presently they returned,unclothed to an alarming and increasing extent, and rowing forty to theminute. One crew brought off a "gallery" bump right at Ditton Corner, tothe joy of the galaxy of beauty and fashion thereon assembled. Thebumped crew made the best of an inglorious situation by running into thepiles and doubling up the nose of the boat, which suddenly buckled andassumed a sentry-box attitude over the head of the apoplectic gentlemanwho was rowing bow. The good ship herself incontinently sank, all handsgoing down with her like an octette of Casabiancas. Whereupon applausefor the victors was turned into cries of compassion for the vanquished.However, as all concerned shook themselves clear of the wreck withoutdifficulty and paddled contentedly to the bank, the panic subsided, andthe rest of the procession raced past without further incident.
As the last boat, remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, accompanied by acoloured gentleman ringing a dinner-bell and a spectacled don whotrotted alongside chanting, "Well rowed, Non-Collegiate Students!"creaked dismally past, Hughie arose and shook himself.
"Our turn now," he said. "So long, everybody!"
"Good luck, Hughie!" said Mrs. Ames. "Your health!"
She waved her cup and then took a sip of tea.
There was a chorus of good wishes from the party, and one or twoneighbouring enthusiasts raised a cry of "Benedict's!" which swelled toa roar as Hughie, flushing red, elbowed his way out of the paddock andsteered a course for a ferry-boat a hundred yards down the Long Reach.Popular feeling, which likes a peg upon which to hang its predilections,was running high in favour of Hughie and his practically single-handedendeavour to humble the pride of the All Saints men, with their fourBlues and five years' Headship.
Still, though many a man's--especially a young man's--heart would haveswelled excusably enough at such homage, Hughie cared very littlefor these things. The notoriety of the sporting paper and thepicture-postcard attracted him not at all. He was doggedly determined totake his boat to the Head of the river, not for the glory theachievement would bring him, but for the very simple and sufficientreason that he had made up his mind, four Blues notwithstanding, toleave it there before he went down. A Cambridge man's pride in hisCollege is a very real thing. An Oxford man will tell you that he is anOxford man. A Cambridge man will say: "I was at such-and-such a College,Cambridge." Which sentiment is the nobler need not be decided here, butthe fact remains.
However, there was a fly in the ointment. Amid the expressions ofgoodwill that emanated from Hughie's own party one voice had beensilent. The omission was quite unintentional, for Miss MildredFreshwater's head had been buried in a hamper in search of spoons at themoment of Hughie's departure. But to poor Hughie, who for all hisstrength was no more reasonable where his affections were concerned thanother and weaker brethren, the circumstance bereft the ovation of theone mitigating feature it might otherwise have possessed for him.
As he strode along the bank to where the ferry-boat was waiting, heheard a pattering of feet behind. A small, hot, and rather grubby handwas thrust into his, and Miss Gaymer remarked:--
"I'm coming as far as that boat with you, Hughie. Can I?"
"All right, Joey," he replied.
They had only a few yards farther to go. Miss Gaymer looked up into heridol's troubled countenance.
"What's the matter, Hughie!" she inquired.
"Joey, I've got the hump."
Miss Gaymer squeezed his arm affectionately.
"Never mind, I'll marry you when I'm grown up," she announced ratherbreathlessly.
Hughie felt a little awed, as a man must always when he realises that awoman, however old or young, loves him. He smiled down on the slimfigure beside him.
"You're a good sort, Joey," he said. "One of the best!"
Miss Gaymer returned contentedly to her tea, utterly and absolutelyrewarded for the effort involved by the sacrifice of this, her maidenlyreserve.