Part 8 (1/2)

”These are matters, Mr. Atkins,” answered Vincent, ”which we should always inquire about at the fountain-head; _antiquam exquirite matrem_, or rather _patrem_; ha, ha! Take some more tea, Mr. Reding; it won't hurt your nerves. I am rather choice in my tea; this comes overland through Russia; the sea-air destroys the flavour of our common tea.

Talking of air, Mr. Tenby, I think you are a chemist. Have you paid attention to the recent experiments on the composition and resolution of air? Not? I am surprised at it; they are well worth your most serious consideration. It is now pretty well ascertained that inhaling gases is the cure for all kinds of diseases. People are beginning to talk of the gas-cure, as they did of the water-cure. The great foreign chemist, Professor Scaramouch, has the credit of the discovery. The effects are astounding, quite astounding; and there are several remarkable coincidences. You know medicines are always unpleasant, and so these gases are always fetid. The Professor cures by stenches, and has brought his science to such perfection that he actually can cla.s.sify them. There are six elementary stenches, and these spread into a variety of subdivisions? What do you say, Mr. Reding? Distinctive? Yes, there is something very distinctive in smells. But what is most gratifying of all, and is the great coincidence I spoke of, his ultimate resolution of fetid gases a.s.signs to them the very same precise number as is given to existing complaints in the latest treatises on pathology. Each complaint has its gas. And, what is still more singular, an exhausted receiver is a specific for certain desperate disorders. For instance, it has effected several cures of hydrophobia. Mr. Seaton,” he continued to a freshman, who, his breakfast finished, was sitting uncomfortably on his chair, looking down and playing with his knife--”Mr. Seaton, you are looking at that picture”--it was almost behind Seaton's back--”I don't wonder at it; it was given me by my good old mother, who died many years ago. It represents some beautiful Italian scenery.”

Vincent stood up, and his party after him, and all crowded round the picture.

”I prefer the green of England,” said Reding.

”England has not that brilliant variety of colour,” said Tenby.

”But there is something so soothing in green.”

”You know, of course, Mr. Reding,” said the tutor, ”that there is plenty of green in Italy, and in winter even more than in England; only there are other colours too.”

”But I can't help fancying,” said Charles, ”that that mixture of colours takes off from it the repose of English scenery.”

”The repose, for instance,” said Tenby, ”of Binsey Common, or Port Meadow in winter.”

”Say in summer,” said Reding; ”if you choose place, I will choose time.

I think the University goes down just when Oxford begins to be most beautiful. The walks and meadows are so fragrant and bright now, the hay half carried, and the short new gra.s.s appearing.”

”Reding ought to live here all through the Long,” said Tenby: ”does any one live through the Vacation, sir, in Oxford?”

”Do you mean they die before the end of it, Mr. Tenby?” asked Vincent.

”It can't be denied,” he continued, ”that many, like Mr. Reding, think it a most pleasant time. _I_ am fond of Oxford; but it is not my _habitat_ out of term-time.”

”Well, I think I should like to make it so,” said Charles, ”but, I suppose, undergraduates are not allowed.”

Mr. Vincent answered with more than necessary gravity, ”No;” it rested with the Princ.i.p.al; but he conceived that he would not consent to it.

Vincent added that certainly there _were_ parties who remained in Oxford through the Long Vacation. It was said mysteriously.

Charles answered that, if it was against college rules, there was no help for it; else, were he reading for his degree, he should like nothing better than to pa.s.s the Long Vacation in Oxford, if he might judge by the pleasantness of the last ten days.

”That is a compliment, Mr. Reding, to your company,” said Vincent.

At this moment the door opened, and in came the manciple with the dinner paper, which Mr. Vincent had formally to run his eye over. ”Watkins,” he said, giving it back to him, ”I almost think to-day is one of the Fasts of the Church. Go and look, Watkins, and bring me word.”

The astonished manciple, who had never been sent on such a commission in his whole career before, hastened out of the room, to task his wits how best to fulfil it. The question seemed to strike the company as forcibly, for there was a sudden silence, which was succeeded by a shuffling of feet and a leave-taking; as if, though they had secured their ham and mutton at breakfast, they did not like to risk their dinner. Watkins returned sooner than could have been expected. He said that Mr. Vincent was right; to-day he had found was ”the feast of the Apostles.”

”The Vigil of St. Peter, you mean, Watkins,” said Mr. Vincent; ”I thought so. Then let us have a plain beefsteak and a saddle of mutton; no Portugal onions, Watkins, or currant-jelly; and some simple pudding, Charlotte pudding, Watkins--that will do.”

Watkins vanished. By this time, Charles found himself alone with the college authority; who began to speak to him in a more confidential tone.

”Mr. Reding,” said he, ”I did not like to question you before the others, but I conceive you had no particular _meaning_ in your praise of Oxford in the Long Vacation? In the mouths of some it would have been suspicious.”

Charles was all surprise.

”To tell the truth, Mr. Reding, as things stand,” he proceeded, ”it is often a mark of _party_, this residence in the Vacation; though, of course, there is nothing in the _thing_ itself but what is perfectly natural and right.”