CHAPTER THREE

en.Andtherivertoorunspast,notatflood,norswiftly,butcloyingtheoarthatdipsinitanddropswhitedropsfromtheblade,swimminggreenanddeepoverthebowedrushes,asiflavishlycaressingthem. Wheretheymooredtheirboatthetreesshowereddown,sothattheirtopmostleavestrailedintheripplesandthegreenwedgethatlayinthewaterbeingmadeofleavesshiftedinleaf-breadthsastherealleavesshifted.Nowtherewasashiverofwind—instantlyanedgeofskyandasDurrantatecherrieshedroppedthestuntedyellowcherriesthroughthegreenwedgeofleaves,theirstalkstwinklingastheywriggledinandout,andsometimesonehalf-bittencherrywouldgodownredintothegreen.ThemeadowwasonalevelwithJacob'seyesashelaybackgiltwithbuttercups,butthegrassdidnotrunlikethethingreenwaterofthegraveyardgrassabouttooverflowthetombstones,butstoodjuicyandthick.Lookingup,backwards,hesawthelegsofchildrendeepinthegrass,andthelegsofcows.Munch,munch,heheardthenashortstepthroughthegrassthenagainmunch,munch,munch,astheytorethegrassshortattheroots.Infrontofhimtwowhitebutterfliescircledhigherandhigherroundtheelmtree. "Jacob'soff,"thoughtDurrantlookingupfromhisnovel.Hekeptreadingafewpagesandthenlookingupinacuriouslymethodicalmanner,andeachtimehelookeduphetookafewcherriesoutofthebagandatethemabstractedly.Otherboatspassedthem,crossingthebackwaterfromsidetosidetoavoideachother,formanywerenowmoored,andtherewerenowwhitedressesandaflawinthecolumnofairbetweentwotrees,roundwhichcurledathreadofblue—LadyMiller'spicnicparty.Stillmoreboatskeptcoming,andDurrant,withoutgettingup,shovedtheirboatclosertothebank. "Oh-h-h-h,"groanedJacob,astheboatrocked,andthetreesrocked,andthewhitedressesandthewhiteflanneltrousersdrewoutlongandwaveringupthebank. "Oh-h-h-h!"Hesatup,andfeltasifapieceofelastichadsnappedinhisface. "They'refriendsofmymother's,"saidDurrant."SooldBowtooknoendoftroubleabouttheboat." AndthisboathadgonefromFalmouthtoSt.IvesBay,allroundthecoast.Alargerboat,aten-tonyacht,aboutthetwentiethofJune,properlyfittedout,Durrantsaid… "There'sthecashdifficulty,"saidJacob. "Mypeople'llseetothat,"saidDurrant(thesonofabanker,deceased). "Iintendtopreservemyeconomicindependence,"saidJacobstiffly.(Hewasgettingexcited.) "MymothersaidsomethingaboutgoingtoHarrogate,"hesaidwithalittleannoyance,feelingthepocketwherehekepthisletters. "WasthattrueaboutyourunclebecomingaMohammedan?"askedTimmyDurrant. JacobhadtoldthestoryofhisUncleMortyinDurrant'sroomthenightbefore. "Iexpecthe'sfeedingthesharks,ifthetruthwereknown,"saidJacob."Isay,Durrant,there'snoneleft!"heexclaimed,crumplingthebagwhichhadheldthecherries,andthrowingitintotheriver.HesawLadyMiller'spicnicpartyontheislandashethrewthebagintotheriver. Asortofawkwardness,grumpiness,gloomcameintohiseyes. "Shallwemoveon…thisbeastlycrowd…"hesaid. Souptheywent,pasttheisland. Thefeatherywhitemoonneverlettheskygrowdarkallnightthechestnutblossomswerewhiteinthegreendimwasthecow-parsleyinthemeadows. ThewaitersatTrinitymusthavebeenshufflingchinaplateslikecards,fromtheclatterthatcouldbeheardintheGreatCourt.Jacob'srooms,however,wereinNeville'sCourtatthetopsothatreachinghisdooronewentinalittleoutofbreathbuthewasn'tthere.DininginHall,presumably.ItwillbequitedarkinNeville'sCourtlongbeforemidnight,onlythepillarsoppositewillalwaysbewhite,andthefountains.Acuriouseffectthegatehas,likelaceuponpalegreen.Eveninthewindowyouheartheplatesahumoftalk,too,fromthedinerstheHalllitup,andtheswing-doorsopeningandshuttingwithasoftthud.Somearelate. Jacob'sroomhadaroundtableandtwolowchairs.Therewereyellowflagsinajaronthemantelpieceaphotographofhismothercardsfromsocietieswithlittleraisedcrescents,coatsofarms,andinitialsnotesandpipesonthetablelaypaperruledwitharedmargin—anessay,nodoubt—"DoesHistoryconsistoftheBiographiesofGreatMen?"TherewerebooksenoughveryfewFrenchbooksbutthenanyonewho'sworthanythingreadsjustwhathelikes,asthemoodtakeshim,withextravagantenthusiasm.LivesoftheDukeofWellington,forexampleSpinozatheworksofDickenstheFaeryQueenaGreekdictionarywiththepetalsofpoppiespressedtosilkbetweenthepagesalltheElizabethans.Hisslipperswereincrediblyshabby,likeboatsburnttothewater'srim.ThentherewerephotographsfromtheGreeks,andamezzotintfromSirJoshua—allveryEnglish.TheworksofJaneAusten,too,indeference,perhaps,tosomeoneelse'sstandard.Carlylewasaprize.TherewerebooksupontheItalianpaintersoftheRenaissance,aManualoftheDiseasesoftheHorse,andalltheusualtext-books.Listlessistheairinanemptyroom,justswellingthecurtaintheflowersinthejarshift.Onefibreinthewickerarm-chaircreaks,thoughnoonesitsthere. Comingdownthestepsalittlesideways[Jacobsatonthewindow-seattalkingtoDurranthesmoked,andDurrantlookedatthemap],theoldman,withhishandslockedbehindhim,hisgownfloatingblack,lurched,unsteadily,nearthewallthen,upstairshewentintohisroom.Thenanother,whoraisedhishandandpraisedthecolumns,thegate,theskyanother,trippingandsmug.Eachwentupastaircasethreelightswerelitinthedarkwindows. IfanylightburnsaboveCambridge,itmustbefromthreesuchroomsGreekburnsheresciencetherephilosophyonthegroundfloor.PooroldHuxtablecan'twalkstraight—Sopwith,too,haspraisedtheskyanynightthesetwentyyearsandCowanstillchucklesatthesamestories.Itisnotsimple,orpure,orwhollysplendid,thelampoflearning,sinceifyouseethemthereunderitslight(whetherRossetti'sonthewall,orVanGoghreproduced,whethertherearelilacsinthebowlorrustypipes),howpriestlytheylook!Howlikeasuburbwhereyougotoseeaviewandeataspecialcake!"Wearethesolepurveyorsofthiscake."BackyougotoLondonforthetreatisover. OldProfessorHuxtable,performingwiththemethodofaclockhischangeofdress,lethimselfdownintohischairfilledhispipech