ROBIN had been at Cambridge about a fortnight, and on a certain Sunday afternoon was sitting with Jim in the window-seat of the latter’s room over-looking the court. The bell for afternoon chapel had begun, but since they had both been there in the morning, they proposed to abstain from any further religious exercises. The menace of tempest that for the last week had been so swiftly piling up over Europe had barely as yet flecked the scholastic calm of Cambridge with the faintest ruffling of its tranquil surface. Mr. Waters, indeed, was perhaps the only member of St. Stephen’s who had been at all acutely affected, since he had thought it wiser not to go to Baireuth, and had been unable to dispose of his tickets.

Robin was blowing tobacco smoke on to a small green insect that clung to a stalk of mignonette in the window-box.

“It is for its good,” he said. “It will make it feel sick, and so when it grows up it will instinctively dislike the smell of tobacco and so not spend its money, like me, on cigarettes. Talking of which, I’ve run short. Hope you’ve got some?”

“I’m smoking my last. What’s to be done?”

“Go into the town and buy some. Damn, i{182}t’s Sunday! Oh, there’s Jelf! Got any cigarettes, Judas?”

Jelf had lately been very strong on what he called effete Christian superstitions. Nobody cared in the least what Jelf believed, but it was obvious that his name was Judas. He strolled on to the grass below the window.

“Yes, plenty, thank you,” he said, “if you were speaking to me. But my name is Jelf.”

“I know. Do be a good chap, and bring us a handful. Jim and I have run out. You can hang yourself afterwards. I’ll even give you some tea first, and you can talk to a pretty lady who’s coming to tea, too.”

“Who’s that?” asked Jim.

“Friend of my mother’s, Lady Gurtner. She’s motoring in from her house somewhere near for chapel. About the cigarettes now. You aren’t Judas, Jelf. I can’t imagine what I was thinking about. But for God’s sake fetch some cigarettes, and then you needn’t hang yourself.”

“You’re quite sure?” asked Jelf.

“Absolutely certain. Thanks, awfully.”

Jim put down off the window-seat one of Robin’s legs which was incommoding him.

“Germany declared war on Russia yesterday,” he said. “Wonder what’s going to happen next?”

“I don’t know. I suppose there’ll be a battle. It’s rather exciting, and I’m glad we’re on an island. This queer bug doesn’t seem to mind tobacco smoke. Hullo, Badders! Why going to chapel again?”

“Why not?” said Badsley from the path outside. “I say, I believe there’s going to be a gory war.”

“Well, we’re not in it, so what does it matter? Jim and I are dining with you to-night, aren’t we?”

“I think you told me so.{183}”

“I was sure I hadn’t forgotten to. Thanks, we’ll come. Hurrah! there’s Ju—Jelf with cigarettes.”

Jelf entered, brandishing his cigarettes like a wave-offering.

“Christianity hasn’t made much of a show in nineteen hundred years,” he remarked. “Total effect up to date is that we’re going to have the biggest war that ever happened. Moslems are forbidden to fight against Moslems, you know, but Christians may kill as many of each other as they please.”

“Have a cigarette? One of yours,” said Jim, changing the subject.

“War!” said Jelf. “Of all the insane and senseless things in the world war is the worst. Two fellows quarrel, or two nations quarrel, and by way of finding out which of them is right they hit each other till one goes down. Then the other stamps on him, and everyone goes to a thanksgiving service in church because God has been on his side. Don’t know what the fellow who is stamped on does. Probably he goes to Hell. It must be jolly puzzling to have two nations or more all on their knees fervently praying for absolutely opposite things, especially if you have promised to grant prayers addressed to you. He ought to have thought of that before He promised.”

“O Lor’!” said Robin.

“It’s no use saying ‘O Lor’.’ You fellows hate anything that makes you think, because you can’t think. I’ve told you that before.”

“I know; that’s what makes it tedious,” said Robin.

“Well, I find you tedious, too,” said Jelf. “I hate the English. They’re a mixture of sentiment and sport. They can’t think. But do be serious a minute and try to think. Germany and Russia are at war now. Everything good has come from Germany, beer{184} and Bach and Beethoven and Christmas trees, except what has come out of Russia, which is Tolstoi and Turgeniev and Nijinski and Pavlova. And now they’re fighting because of a rotten little dung-heap called Serbia. France might as well go to war on behalf of Monte Carlo. What’s the good of the little nations, anyway? They ought to belong to somebody else.”

Robin had taken up an illustrated magazine, and was playing noughts and crosses on the back of it with Jim. But the lack of attention on the part of his audience never discomposed Jelf.

“And now as like as not France and we will have to join in,” he went on, “and there you’ll have all the civilized nations of Europe killing each other on account of a little rotten country that neither of you could find on a map. Germany has already threatened to march through Belgium to get at France, and Belgium—another rotten little country—has appealed to England.”

“Oh, when did that happen?” asked Jim. “Two to you, Birds.”

“To-day. It was on the tape down at the ‘union.’ Not that anybody cared, except Mackenzie, who sees a future for his aeroplane engine.”

“Why?”

“Because aeroplanes, as he says, are going to win the war for somebody. You can scout all behind the enemy’s lines. We’ve got about three aeroplanes at present.... I say, isn’t there anything you fellows are interested in except cricket?”

“Yes, cigarettes,” said Robin. “And we like hearing you talk, as long as we needn’t listen. But aren’t you and Mackenzie getting on rather quick?”

“Not as quick as things are getting on. I had an argument with Mackenzie{185}——”

“You don’t say so!” said Jim.

“I did. I think war is the devil. If England went to war, nothing would induce me to stop protesting against it.”

“Oh, are you a—a Pacific?” hazarded Robin.

“Ocean. Try Pacifist. Of course I am; so would you be if you thought. How does killing people prove your point? If you said I had a green nose, I shouldn’t kill you in order to prove it wasn’t green. And if you killed me, it wouldn’t prove that it was. My nose would remain precisely the same colour whether you killed me or not.”

“It might become crimson first,” said Robin.

“I suppose that’s funny. War is utterly illogical and uncivilized. Only schoolboys fight when they disagree.”

“If you’ll stop talking, I’ll bet you half-a-crown that we shan’t go to war. Besides, we’ve got an invincible fleet, and I suppose Germany’s got an invincible army. Will the army swim out and board the fleet, or will our sailors put off in small boats and fight the Germans on land? It’s all rot. Your move, Jim.”

“I take that half-crown. I can’t bear the thought of Germany being smashed up. I spent three months there last year, and I loved them.”

“As much as you hate the English?”

“Just about. I hope to goodness we shall be sensible and keep out of it. Germans have got brains: if you talk to a German he understands what you say, which is such an advantage.”

“Whereas if you talk to an Englishman, he plays noughts and crosses,” said Robin. “Lord, they’re coming out of chapel. I must go and find Lady Gurtner.”

It was not very hard to find Lady Gurtner, for she{186} was quite the most conspicuous object in the crowd that poured out of chapel. She was also in the highest spirits, for in the motor that waited for her at the gate, guarded by a footman, lay the sables that her soul had so ardently desired, which her husband had just purchased for her. This implied some big financial coup, the nature of which she knew. For his foresight on that night when he had sat up till dawn “writing and thinking for her,” had, in conjunction with more work next day, produced results that were excessively pleasant.

Before there had been anything like alarm on the Stock Exchange of Europe he had sold at peace prices enormous blocks of shares in English, German and French funds, with a view to repurchasing them at panic prices when the shadow of war spread. Simultaneously he had purchased interests in such holdings as coal and shipping companies, and in armament and ammunition works, such as Krupps and Vickers, which, instead of being adversely affected by the prospect of war, would be bound to appreciate. This sagacity also was turning out very well, and though he had intended to come with Aline into Cambridge that afternoon, from his country house a dozen miles off, he had judged it more prudent to get back to London that night, so as to be on the spot for the very agitated opening which the Stock Exchange would no doubt experience on Monday morning, and be ready for the psychological moment at which to put in his sickle and reap the golden harvest which awaited him on some of those transactions. But in his absence Aline felt that the sables made the only adequate substitute for him.

She had come to a decision on that question of national sympathy, which he had put so crudely before her at that tragic interview which succeeded her{187} triumphant party. It was quite possible to be good friends with everybody, so she had determined. No doubt her German blood called to her, but her position, now strongly held in England, called to her also. The English, should that terrible event of England’s entering the war be realized (as her husband now deemed to be inevitable) should see how completely she had embraced the cause of her adopted country. She would be clever about it, too: she would frankly say how her heart was torn, but she would no less show that it had been torn into two very unequal portions, by far the largest of which was English. She developed those tactfulnesses at once, as she walked back to Robin’s rooms, talking rather loud.

“I never saw such a beautiful place,” she said, “and what singing! My dear, fancy living in this divine court! Are your rooms really here? Do you live here? What an atmosphere to be soaked in! No wonder you English boys are the most delightful creatures under the sun. You utterly lucky person, Robin. You go to school at Eton, and then you come here, and when you are away on your holidays you live at Grote. Thank goodness, my sons are going to do just the same. What wouldn’t I give to be a boy at Eton with this to follow! And are we really going to walk under this arch to your rooms? I am sick with envy of you. I shall die of discontent when I get back to my horrid house.”

They passed through the arch and into Robin’s room, which looked out away from the big court on to a small space of grass with a mulberry tree in the middle. Robin introduced Jelf, who in this interval had been useful with regard to making the kettle boil over a spirit-lamp, and Lady Gurtner became equally effusive to him.{188}

“And so you’re another of the spoiled children of the world,” she said. “And that’s a mulberry tree out there, isn’t it? How old-world and lovely! I can see the fruit on it. But that’s the sort of thing you can’t get, unless you’ve five hundred years behind you. Do you read your Greek under the mulberry tree? I’m sure you do. There’s nothing like Cambridge in the whole of Germany. Poor Germany! Have you ever been to Germany, Mr. Jelf?”

There was no possibility of replying to Lady Gurtner’s remarks, when she was determined on making an impression, for having asked a question, she turned to other matters that lay littered about in her hopping, bird-like mind. She paused only for a second’s space to think how greatly Hermann would admire and extol her for her inimitable tact in being so convincingly English.

“All the German students do nothing but drink beer,” she said, “except when they are fighting duels. What delicious tea! And a bun—yes, please, a bun—I am sure it was baked in the kitchen that Henry the Sixth built. How good! Buttered, too, on its lovely inside. I never saw such Sybarites. And here you all live, and don’t bother with anything else that happens outside. That is so sensible. You are just English boys; I wish the recipe could be known. How jolly and comfortable we should all be!”

Her mouth was full for the moment of the delicious bun, and she could not prevent Robin asking a question:

“But do you mean we are not all going to be jolly and comfortable?” he said.

“Ah, yes, you mean about this dreadful news to-day,” she said, rapidly disposing of the delicious bun by a hurried swallow and a sip of tea. “I know my husband thinks it all very serious: it is as if that great{189} brutal Germany was insisting on a quarrel. I have not been there for years, though I was going last week, when all the trouble began. I shall never go there again if she goes to war with that lovely France, Russia too!”

“Won’t she find herself in a pretty nasty place between them?” asked Robin.

For a moment her tact deserted her: the call of the blood silenced all other voices.

“Ah, you don’t know the might of Germany if you think that,” she said. “She is invincible: not all the armies of Europe could stand against her. Her fleet, too——”

She stopped suddenly, feeling that Hermann would not admire these last remarks quite as sincerely as her previous felicities. But she could not stand anybody else, even one of those adorable English boys, running down the Fatherland.

“After all, there is an English fleet,” said Robin.

Once again she had to put a firm hand on herself, in order to prevent her tongue running away with her on the magnificence of the German Navy. But it escaped through another bolt-hole, making a not very happy diversion.

“But England is not going to fight Germany,” she said. “You have your hands full with these miserable Irish affairs, and besides, what quarrel have you with Germany? It is all about Serbia, so my husband tells me, which surely does not matter to England.”

Now, somehow, even to the immature perception of the two undergraduates, these words, though nearly identical with Jelf’s, sounded quite different, took on a sinister meaning when spoken by Lady Gurtner. Jelf had said that small nations had no place, but the moment Lady Gurtner said that Serbia did not matter{190} to England, she began to matter. No one took Jelf seriously: his tirades were but the expression of a mind that delighted in argument, that was eager to see the reverse of conventional views. It was merely “Jelfish” that he should proclaim his love for Germans and his dislike of the English, but that didn’t really represent Jelf. In fact he liked shocking you, and failed, whereas Lady Gurtner liked pleasing, and in this instance failed also. Suddenly and inexplicably, a hostile and uncomfortable atmosphere diffused itself. Robin got up with a laugh.

“Just before you came in, Lady Gurtner,” he said, “Mr. Jelf was telling me I didn’t know where Serbia was on the map. It’s quite true: one knows the sort of place, just as one knows the sort of place where Shropshire is. I’m sure you don’t know where Shropshire is. Do have some more tea. Or a cigarette. Smoke as many cigarettes as you like: they’re not mine. And then you must walk down to the Backs. Have you seen my mother lately?”

There were plenty of amiable topics spread out here for selection, and Lady Gurtner, eager to re-establish herself, grabbed at a handful of them.

“Yes, I saw your beloved mother only three days ago,” she said, “and she promised to pay me a visit some time during August. You must come, too, Robin, if you can tear yourself away from this place. Do give me a cigarette, though I suppose I mayn’t smoke it out of doors. And then I insist on just going down to the Backs, if they aren’t very far off. And aren’t we all ignorant about geography? I shall get a map as soon as I go home, and look out Shropshire and Serbia.”

Robin saw Lady Gurtner off, admired the sables, and returned to his room, where Jelf was still smoking his{191} own cigarettes. They looked at each other in silence a moment, and then Jelf said:

“I talked the most awful rot this afternoon. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, Lord, yes,” said Robin. “Let’s go and see if there’s any more news.”

 

There was nothing more of which the tape at the union had cognizance, and after dinner Robin and Jim, with their host, started a mild game of poker. But whether it was that three do not constitute an adequate assembly for this particular form of hazard to become entertaining, the game very soon languished, and the three sat unusually silent. Badsley lay in the window seat with his pipe croaking in the dusk as he drew on it, Jim got up and wandered aimlessly about the room, and Robin, with tilted chair, still sat at the table where they had played, building card-houses that never aspired beyond the second story. Occasionally one or other dropped a remark that passed almost unheeded. Jim was watching Robin put on the roof of the first story.

“What’ll war mean?” he said. “A European war, not just a scrimmage in the Balkans.”

“Don’t know. Damn, you shook the table.”

Robin began his edifice again, and this time spoke himself.

“We must come in, mustn’t we?” he said. “Haven’t we got some sort of arrangement with France and Russia? We’ve got to keep that.”

Nobody answered, and Badsley knocked out the half-smoked ashes of his pipe into the window-box.

“Pretty mean trick of Germany, threatening to invade Belgium, when she’s sworn she wouldn’t,” he said. “Whisky, anybody?{192}”

He went across to his cupboard and poured some out for himself, as he received no answer. The syphon-handle was stiff, then gave way suddenly, and a fountain of whisky and soda aspired like a geyser.

“Have some whisky and soda,” said Robin.

“Got some, thanks: chiefly up my sleeve. Hell!” Robin abandoned the attempt to build, and began flicking counters across the table.

“What was your mother’s friend like?” asked Jim.

“Oh, a sort of bird of paradise in furs. I never liked her much, and to-day I didn’t like her at all.”

“Why?”

“She swanked about the German Army.”

Badsley had succeeded better with his second attempt to obtain refreshment.

“Jolly fine woman, I thought,” he said. “I saw her with my little eye in chapel. After that I didn’t attend any more. Why didn’t you ask me to tea, Birds?”

“Because I was going to dine with you, and I thought tea as well would be too much pleasure. I say, I feel rather rotten to-night. Sort of feeling that one doesn’t know what’s going to happen.”

“You didn’t seem to care two straws this afternoon,” said Jim.

“I know I didn’t. But it’s just beginning to be real. Whisky? Yes, why not whisky? I say, shan’t we want an army if we go to war? Where’s that to come from?”

Robin drank his glass at a draught.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “It’s no use trying to play poker if you’re thinking about something else. Good-night, Badders; thanks awfully for dinner.{193}”

Jim, as a matter of course, came out with him and took his arm.

“Stroll down to the bridge first?” he asked.

“Yes; may as well,” said Robin.

The moon with the clippings of three nights off the right side of its circle had risen and cleared the tree tops, and rode high in a sky dappled with mackerel-skin patches of cloud, through which its rays shone with a diffused opalescence. Now and then it streamed down a channel of clear and starry sky, and the lights and shadows became sharp-cut, but for the most part those shoals of thin cloud, on which it cast the faint colours of a pearl’s rainbow, gave to the night an illumination as of some grey, diminished day.

To-night there was no dew on the grass; over the river, bats, hunting the nocturnal insects flitted with slate-pencil squeaks, scarcely audible. A little wind blew downstream from out of the arch of the bridge, ruffling patches of the water’s surface, and lightning, very remote, winked on the horizon we............