Owing to the awful scenes on the last night of the ‘Cannibal Girl,’ musical comedies had become exceedingly unpopular with the authorities, and so we had to rely upon the Suburban for what Squiff calls ‘an occasional divarsion.’

It all began with the Fresher’s lunch in Wykeham’s. The Fresher is exceedingly fresh for, well, for a fresher, and his lunch, like the Miller’s daughter, ‘was fresher still.’ The party was a genial one, though, with the exception of Reggie and Accrington, most of the sportsmen present were recruited from circles outside that of the Elect. I regret to say that I arrived last of all, but then I generally do. I don’t think any of the best people would know me now if I came in first to a public function; they’d think it was my double.

When I entered the Fresher’s room I found Lord St. Ronots and another St. Union’s man called Hawkes, Downey of Lichfield, and a certain Italian Count by the name of Imarisa. Reggie and Accrington had also come in, but as they were busily engaged playing different tunes upon the same piano, I do not include them among the respectable people. As we commenced operations upon the inevitable lobster salad, and the Fresher succeeded in inducing his scout, who had three other parties on the staircase, to attend to us for fully two consecutive minutes, St. Ronots remarked that the panto at the Suburban was not covered with dust to any appreciable extent, which for St. Ronots, and still more for the Suburban, is a great concession. Downey said that he intended going to see the show, and when Reggie in his usual charming way mentioned that I was going with him and several other people, I began to realise that most of the very best would patronise the Suburban that night. We decided to make a circular tour of the ancient and moth-eaten city after lunch for the purpose of beating up recruits, but meanwhile we were perforce constrained to turn our attention to the ‘savoury viands’—as the late W. Shakespeare would probably have said.

There was no lack of incident to vary the monotony of mere eating, for the Fresher persisted in consuming noxious Virginian cigarettes between each dish, while Reggie accompanied every entry of the scout by martial airs upon the piano. It may perhaps be as well to mention that this did not necessitate any exceptional exertion on Reggie’s part, or he would certainly never have done it, but he merely leant back in his chair and played the piano with ease, the dimensions of the Fresher’s apartment being somewhat restricted.

After lunch was over we all went round in a body to St. Union’s and other Colleges in search of joyful souls to join us for the evening’s jaunt, and while passing through the Corn on our way to Thomas’, we met Elgar of King’s and two titled foreigners, who informed us that they were ‘looking for trouble.’ This sounded promising, and so we enlisted their services immediately and invited them to coffee at our digs after dinner. We extended a like invitation to most of the other people we met that afternoon, and then hastened back to the Pilot-House—as Reggie now calls our establishment—to order a festive little dinner.

Our dinner party was a small one. There were only de Beresford, Evelyn, and Farmborough, besides our three selves, but the real fun began when Elgar turned up about half-past seven with an old pair of pyjamas, which he proceeded to don, and then treated us to a wild breakdown, regardless of the surrounding crockery and the unfortunate Mary Ellen, who waited upon us in fear and trembling. As Mrs. McNab often says to the Pilot, ‘It ain’t you three gentlemen what makes all the rampagingses, but it’s them there harum scarum friends of yours,’ which only shows how skilfully we conceal our little weaknesses from the powers below, who are in this case the Dig-Master and his wife. When we reached the coffee stage our little party increased very rapidly. Many of the gentlemen assembled appeared to find coffee insipid, and it was at this juncture that I discovered a bottle of Chartreuse in the cellarette, which I seized with the intention of serving out a few liqueurs, but there was no need for thimble glasses, as Stanhope and Freddy took their allowance in coffee, Squiff mixed his with champagne in equal proportions, while Elgar, who couldn’t find anything smaller, lapped up a half tumbler of the fire-water with much pomp. Finding that the bottle was quite empty I went to the window to see if any more visitors were in sight, and beheld for the first time an enormous array of cabs stretching for quite a healthy distance up and down the High. As the liquid refreshment was completely exhausted and it was growing late, I suggested an adjournment to the Suburban, and we left for that festive old barn in a body, three men in each hansom. On our arrival we soon skipped out and arranged to owe our cab fares, but taking tickets was a slower affair. The ticket office at the Suburban is modelled exactly upon those at railway stations, that is to say, it is placed so as to present the minimum of accessibility with the maximum of draught, but by dint of a little perseverance we eventually obtained two dozen stalls and streamed along the passage to the door of the House. When we got inside we were astonished to find more than a hundred Undergrads, instead of the usual contingent of anything from five to half-a-dozen, and this crowding unfortunately compelled us to divide our party. We exchanged friendly greetings with the various people known to us, and placed Elgar in an unobtrusive seat where he would not readily catch the Manager’s eye, and then prepared to watch the show itself. A most remarkable sort of Sister Anne person made his appearance upon the stage soon after our arrival, and some people who were outside the pale of the Elect assailed him with certain strange missiles, chiefly horticultural specimens, which must have stirred up Woodbine the manager, for immediately there descended upon us a shower of leaflets setting forth that ‘nothing must be thrown upon the stage,’ that ‘bouquets left at the office would be handed on to their destination,’ and that any one guilty of disorderly conduct ‘Would be Instantly Ejected.’ This unfortunate notice had exactly the contrary effect to what was intended, and two Gloucester men near me, who had brought a liberal supply of tangerines, immediately prepared for action. It was patent to the meanest intelligence that trouble was brewing, and Woodbine’s myrmidons closed up their serried ranks adjacent to the door. I noticed that our little party was sadly scattered, but was glad to see that Elgar was surrounded by several most stalwart allies. At this moment Downey, who was sitting in front of me and close to the outside of the House, on the left, rose in his seat and proceeded to conduct the orchestra with a folded programme. Now, though this is a form of amusement by no means uncommon at the Suburban, and not altogether unknown even at the theatre, it is often allowed to pass unnoticed and never evokes anything more than a polite remonstrance, but on this particular occasion the melancholy Woodbine is evidently on the war-path.

He advances to Downey, but instead of requesting him to leave off his peculiar amusement, snatches wildly at the programme itself, and in his anger falls over the men in front of him; then finding his own efforts unavailing, he summons the staff of porters who wear the livery of the establishment, and directs them to eject the self-appointed conductor. As this motley crew advances, and Woodbine himself very cautiously concentrates upon the rear, all the ’Varsity men in that part of the House rise in their places and make it impossible for the mercenaries to reach Downey, who is in the middle of a row, unless they first clear the intervening seats by force. Woodbine, foiled a second time, now summons O.P. 134, an enormous ‘peeler,’ who has been standing just outside the door on the other side of the House. The Bobby advances and endeavours to reach Downey, but is prevented by the men before him, who have resumed their seats, but make an impassable barrier by setting up their legs against the seats in front.

The officer of the law does not attempt to force his way through, but enters the row behind, where the inhabitants are disinterested strangers, and seizes Downey; then meeting with no opposition from the occupants of that row, he grips his victim firmly by the collar, and, pulling him over the back and top of his seat, proceeds to remove him from the House.

But at this moment St. Ronots, who conceals a desperate character beneath a mild and almost saintly exterior, took two flying leaps and caught the Bobby round the neck while Hawkes jerked him neatly off his feet. The gentleman in blue, as I have mentioned before, was of colossal height, and also suitably proportioned, so that his sudden fall brought down and completely demolished two rows of stalls, while some dozen chairs were carried away by a sudden rush of the men behind, who feared the impact of such an Herculean mass.

At this juncture I feared a really serious tumult, which would undoubtedly have ensued but for two reasons. In the first place Downey was seated quite close to the further exit, and, secondly, most of our mightiest men of valour were too far from the scene of action to take a hand. Though, as Accrington afterwards remarked, ‘It’s a cold deal that leaves me out.’

This was a very cold deal, for poor Downey was only a carcase in the grip of the monumental policeman, who soon regained the perpendicular and hustled him out of the auditorium with most creditable speed. The tumult, however, was not quelled in an instant, and Woodbine, who had incautiously anticipated the Bobby’s victory, received a chair-back just amidships, and went down among the dead men, to the detriment of his pince-nez and eternal cigarette. Reggie, having nobly retained his grip on Downey’s leg, was cut off by the sudden and quite unintentional fall of a respected greengrocer, who tumbled off his chair and bore poor Rex to the ground, while Hawkes, who had been endeavouring with Elgar and St. Ronots to release Downey from the grip of the law, was struck violently in the eye by something with the regulation number of features. After these casualties, O.P. 134 got his man out into the entrance, where he and No. 154 mounted guard over him until the Proctor, for whom Woodbine had telegraphed, should arrive.

We could not induce the Bobbies, who were civil enough, to release their prisoner. I tried reasoning with Woodbine, but he perpetually shifted his ground, while his assessment of the probable amount of damage at over forty pounds was so unreasonable that it was useless to attempt to come to terms.

De Beresford, who had disappeared mysteriously, returned very soon with a brandy and soda which he bestowed upon Downey, and then finding all remonstrances with Woodbine quite unavailing, we resumed our seats, St. Ronots, Elgar and everybody who had taken an active part in the fracas, having executed a masterly retreat to their respective Colleges, directly they heard that the Manager had telephoned for the Proctor.

I found a resting place on the wreckage of some stalls beside de Beresford and Evelyn, with Reggie just in front of us, and we sat thus until the familiar face of the most genial of the Proctors, followed by a singularly funereal bull-dog, appeared in the doorway. At this juncture Freddy, Accrington and Stanhope, together with about a couple of score more ’Varsity men, whose faces we knew by sight but not to speak to, departed comfortably and without any undue haste by the extra exit. Most of us however who had perfectly clear consciences sat tight and gave our names to the Proctor, not with any idea of ultimately contributing to the University Chest, but merely as a guarantee of good faith. As soon as we had performed our own particular share of this little formality, Reggie and I with de Beresford left the house in search of our first liquid refreshment, picking up on our way Stanhope and Freddy who had been carefully concealed in the pit. We reached that admirable institution, the Cowley Bowling Club, of which most of us are members, and were enjoying a little well-earned refreshment, when to our amazement the ubiquitous Proctor with the iniquitous bull-dogs appeared in the entrance. Houseman advanced and was about to address Reggie, who was surveying him with no very friendly expression, when the excellent barman appeared suddenly from the back-room and asked the Proctor if he was a member of the Club, which honour he was compelled to disclaim, but expressed a desire to speak with some of the young gentlemen present. The wily barman however asked if Houseman had a warrant to enter the club, and on hearing that he had not, asked him most politely to withdraw at once. The Proctor complied with this request with the best grace possible under the circumstances, but I have seldom seen bull-dogs look more malevolent than Houseman’s two attendants. No, not even when a pair of them tracked me four weary miles on foot only to find that the fair lady with whom I had been sharing a cab at midnight was indeed my second cousin.

Having congratulated ourselves and the barman upon his presence of mind, we finished our drinks and returned to the Suburban, where the show seemed to be going on peacefully. Two bicyclists were chasing one another round and round upon a sloping circular track at a tremendous rate, and whenever they stopped for breath the showman filled in the interval with an explanatory speech.

Unfortunately this same showman was an extremely sour looking person and presented a most remarkable appearance. He had a brown bowler hat and trousers, green waistcoat, and black expression, which ‘tout ensemble’ constrained St. Ronots to cheer—though not very lustily—at the wrong moment, thereby greatly enraging the human kaleidoscope, who signalled to Woodbine to remove the Hereditary Legislator from the House. That individual advanced with some circumspection and requested St. Ronots peremptorily to ‘go outside quietly,’ but our friend who had really done nothing wrong, not unnaturally declined to comply with his request, and so the Manager was compelled to fall back upon his oleaginous smile and the Proctor. That gentleman came across to the Hereditary Legislator and exchanged a word or two with him and then appeared to metaphorically put Woodbine through the mangle, for he departed sadly to the Temperance Bar for another cigarette while the Proctor went quietly home. For the remaining hour or so, we really watched the performance, which was rather diverting, and leaving in a body at about eleven o’clock, finished the evening in our rooms.

On Monday morning, in response to urgent notices from the Junior Proctor, a large party assembled at the leprous hour of nine in his rooms at James’. We noticed, as we entered the ante-room, the Assistant Manager of the Suburban Palace of Varieties clad in the usual check cycling-suit and bowler hat, besides several promising looking criminals who were obviously witnesses in various cases coming up for investigation. After exchanging greetings with Squiff and Accrington, Reggie and I selected the two most comfortable chairs and sat down to wait, while the party were passed in one by one to the torture-chamber. More and more people continued to arrive, including Bob Parclane, arrayed in the inevitable eye-glass and check-coat, who was conducting a party accused of throwing bottles out of a window at an elderly citizen. There were also two gentlemen of our acquaintance, who had been so indiscreet as to empty the contents of a syphon upon some wayfarer’s head below their windows in Unity.

After waiting an interminable time, during which the crowd at the door never seemed to grow less, I was ushered in and questioned, but on disclaiming any share in the riot, was politely bowed out. Reggie, who followed me, could not truthfully say this, and was noted down for further reference, and a share in the damages. By this time it was ten o’clock, and we hurried off to join St. Ronots, who was waiting to breakfast with us at the O.U.D.S., and to take tickets for the next musical comedy, which was nothing less than the ever popular ‘Cinq Demi-Vierges.’ In the course of the day every one who had attended the Proctorial LevÉe received a notice regretting that the J.P. must ask us to pay a pound apiece by that evening, which we accordingly did. It was suggested that an indignation meeting of the shareholders in Bridgeley, Houseman & Co., Proctors and General Collectors, should be summoned to demand a statement of accounts, and Reggie, who had just paid four golden sovereigns into the concern, waxed most eloquent upon the subject, but nothing ever came of it. As the Pilot cheerfully remarked on his return from taking a pound share, ‘It is indeed wonderful how we put up with our Pastors and Masters.’

[117]
[118]
[119]