An Oxford Tragedy Read Online Free

friend, and the enemy of none. No don and no undergraduate was able to resist his infectious high spirits. Lastly there was little Mitton, our chaplain, rather pink and white in appearance, and prone to blushing, afailing which filled him with embarrassment and everyone else with amusement. He was not a bad fellow, though apt to be spiky and cantankerous where ecclesiastical questions were involved. He had not quite enough humour to defend himself adequately against the playful assaults of some of his colleagues. Prendergast, I regret to say, took an unholy pleasure in ragging him and exciting his blushes. The undergraduates, with their flair for choosing nicknames both appropriate and inappropriate, called him ‘the frozen mitt’, a name which, for some obscure reason, filled the little man with an unreasonable annoyance. Prendergast, with desire to tease, would sometimes announce his intention of ‘thawing the frozen mitt’, a remark which never failed to bring the desired blush to the chaplain’s cheeks.
    Taken together, a set of men such as might have been seen at any high table at Oxford that night. But I have been compelled to describe them in some detail, for each one of them, little though he knew it, was by the accident of his presence there that evening, destined to be involved more or less intimately in a grim drama of tragedy and crime.
    I looked up from the list of diners, and heard the Bursar asking the Dean whether he expected much noise and excitement in college that night. The question was a not unnatural one. I have often maintained, and am still prepared to do so, that it would be difficult to find a better behaved and more reasonable set of young men than the undergraduates at Oxford as a whole, and St Thomas’s in particular. Contrary to the ideas which are sometimes promulgated by the cheaper newspapers, and by authors of these Oxford novels whose foible would appear to be the crime of Almamatricide, scenes of riot and disorder are almost unknown; so too is habitual drunkenness. But there are times when authority turns a blind eye to a certain amount of high-spirited rejoicing, and to-night wasone of these occasions. For it was the Wednesday night after the last day of the Torpids. After six days of racing which had followed a long and severe period of training it would not be in human nature to refrain from some sort of celebration. Besides, both our boats had done well; both of them had gone up several places – not enough, it is true, to warrant the official recognition of a Bump Supper, but enough to induce a feeling of legitimate exultation. No doubt there would be a considerable turmoil in the Quad, a certain number of fireworks would fly into the air, and a certain proportion of those who had just come out of training would become noisily, if only mildly, intoxicated. Such scenes one could afford to treat with tolerance.
    Maurice answered the Bursar’s question carelessly. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘There might be a bit of noise and even a few broken windows. Perhaps some of them will try to start a bonfire, but if they do J. D. will have to go out and stop it.’
    Doyne grinned. He really rather enjoyed quelling scenes of disorder, for his good temper made his interference effective, and he liked the exercise of authority.
    The mention of possible undergraduate excesses recalled Scarborough and Garnett to Maurice Hargreaves’ mind, and he began to relate their misdoings at some length to his neighbours. He liked to tell a story, and their misdeeds lost nothing in the telling. His voice was powerful and peculiarly resonant, and I noticed that the whole table was listening to him. The episode of the revolver made a real sensation, and even Shirley seemed to think that its use was something of an outrage. Personally I was growing more and more annoyed. It seemed to me improper as well as unfair to give these young men a bad name and so