A Man's Man. Ian Hay
and there were four Blues in the boat. Public opinion admitted that St. Benedict's were about the fastest crew on the river that year, but considered that a seasoned lot like All Saints could keep on spurting away long enough to last out the course.
"Unless, of course," people said, "unless Marrable does something extra special."
It was wonderful what a lot the world in general seemed to expect of Marrable. Character counts for something even among the very young; and there is no more youthful member of society than the undergraduate. The sixth-form boy is a Nestor compared with him.
Meanwhile our diminutive friend Dishy, the coxswain, had succeeded in overtaking his captain, just as that great man stepped into a hansom in Trinity Street.
"Where are you off to, Hughie?" he panted.
"Station."
"People?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm coming with you. I'll cut away before you meet her."
Dishy was one of the few who dared to address Marrable in this strain.
The two installed themselves in the hansom, and while the experienced animal between the shafts proceeded down Trinity Street, butting its way through sauntering pedestrians, pushing past country-parsonical governess carts, taking dogs in its stride, and shrinking apprehensively from motor-bicycles ridden by hatless youths in bedroom slippers, they discussed affairs of state.
"There's only one way to do it, Dishy," said Marrable. "I'm going stroke."
Dishy nodded approvingly.
"It's the only thing to do," he said. "But who is going to row seven—Stroke?"
"Yes."
"Bow-side will go to pieces," said Dishy with conviction.
"Perhaps. But as things are at present stroke side will."
"That's true," admitted the coxswain. "Let's see now: there'll be you stroke, Duncombe seven, Puffin six—it's worth trying anyhow. We're bound to keep away from the James' people, so we might as well have a shot."
"Clear out now," said Marrable, "and go round and tell the men to be at the boathouse by four, and we'll have a ten minutes' outing in the new order. Then, when you've done that, cut down to the boathouse and tell Jerry to alter my stretcher and Duncombe's."
These commands involved a full hour's excessive activity in a hot sun on the part of Mr. Dishart-Watson; but Marrable was not the man to spare himself or his subordinates when occasion demanded.
The coxswain descended to the step of the hansom and clung to the splash-board as he received his last instructions.
"And tell Jerry," added Marrable, "to get down a new stroke-side oar, with a good six-inch blade. Duncombe's has been shaved down to a tooth-pick."
Dishy nodded cheerfully and dropped off into the traffic.
"The old man means business. We shall go Head now," he murmured to himself with simple confidence. "All right, sir, my fault entirely. Don't apologise!"
And leaving an inverted motor-cyclist, who had run into him from behind, to congest the traffic and endure laceration from his own still faithfully revolving pedals, the coxswain of the St. Benedict's boat proceeded at a brisk pace back to his College, there to inform a sorely tried troupe of seven that, owing to an eleventh-hour change in the cast, a full-dress rehearsal of their evening's performance had been called for four o'clock sharp.
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCES THE HEROINE OF THIS NARRATIVE
It has been said by those who ought to know that, if the most painful quarter of an hour in a man's life comes when he is screwing himself up to proposing-point, the corresponding period in a woman's is that immediately preceding her first dinner-party in her own house.
Granting the unpleasantness of both these chastening but necessary experiences, a mere male may be excused for inquiring why the second should be ear-marked as the exclusive prerogative of the opposite sex. There is no more morbidly apprehensive creature under the sun than the undergraduate about to give a state luncheon-party which is to be graced by the presence of his beloved.
Hughie Marrable sat back in his hansom with knitted brow, and checked some hieroglyphics on the back of an envelope.
"Let's see," he murmured to himself, "Dressed crab. Can't go wrong there. Told the cook to be sure to send it up in the silver scallops with the College crest on. After all, it's the trimmings that really appeal to a woman. Not the food, but the way you serve it up. Rum creatures!" he added parenthetically. "Prawns in aspic. That always looks nice, anyway, though not very filling at the price. I remember last year Kitty Devenish said it looked simply—"
Hughie checked his soliloquy rather suddenly, and, if any one else had been present in the hansom, would probably have blushed a little. Miss Kitty Devenish was what cycle-dealers term "a last year's model," and at the present moment Hughie was driving to meet some one else. He continued:—
"Cutlets à la reform. Quite the best thing the kitchens turn out, but not so showy as they might be. Still, with old Huish's Crown Derby plates—it was decent of the old man to lend them; I hope to goodness Mrs. Gunn won't do anything rash with them—they ought to do. Grassy corner pudding. That always creates excitement, though it tastes rotten. Fruit salad; crême brûlé. That's safe enough. Macaroni au gratin. She won't touch it, but it'll please Uncle Jimmy and Jack Ames. Wish I could have some myself! Never mind; only about six hours more!"
Hughie smacked his lips. It is hard to sit among the flesh-pots and not partake thereof. His fare at this feast would be cold beef and dry toast.
He turned over the envelope.
"H'm—drink. Don't suppose she'll have anything, but I can't take that for granted. There's a bottle of Berncastler Doctor and some Beaune. I wonder if it would be best to have them open before I ask her what she'll drink, or ask her what she'll drink before I open them. I'll have 'em open, I think. She might refuse if she saw the corks weren't drawn. Anyhow Mrs. Ames will probably take some. But, great Scott! I must ask Mrs. Ames first, mustn't I? That's settled anyway. She'll probably take whatever Mrs. Ames takes.
"Then there are the table decorations. I wish to goodness I could remember whether it was wall-flower she said. I think it must have been, because I remember making some putrid joke to her once about like attracting unlike. Anyhow, it's too late to change it now. I've plumped for wall-flower, and the room simply stinks of it.
"Then the seats. Me at the head, with Mrs. Ames on one hand and her on the other. Uncle Jimmy at the end, with Ames on his left and Dicky Lunn between Mrs. Ames and Uncle Jimmy. Yes, Ames must sit there. Lord knows, Dicky Lunn should be safe enough, but you never know what sort of man a girl won't take a fancy to. And after all, Ames is married," added the infatuated youth.
"Then Mrs. Gunn. I think I've told her everything." He feverishly ticked off his admonitions on his fingers. "Let me see—
"One: not to put used plates on the floor.
"Two: not to join in the conversation.
"Three: not to let that wobbly affair in her bonnet dip into the food.
"Four: not to breathe on things or polish them with her apron, except out of sight.
"Five: not to attempt on any account to hand round the drink.
"Six: to go away directly after lunch and not trot in and out of the gyp-room munching remains.
"The tea-hamper should be all right. Trust the kitchens for that! I must remember to stick in a box of chocolates, though. And I don't