The Babe, B.A. : being the uneventful history of a young gentleman at Cambridge University — John Shaqi
The Babe, B.A. : being the uneventful history of a young gentleman at Cambridge UniversityBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
General
The Babe, B.A. : being the uneventful history of a young gentleman at Cambridge University
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
Cambridge (England) -- Fiction; College stories; College students -- Fiction; University of Cambridge -- Fiction
Inside, they were furnished with a small bookcase, occupied by
débutant-looking classical books, several low chairs, which may best
be described as rather groggy, and had been taken on from the previous
owner at a high valuation, a piano of a harsh and astringent quality
of tone, but plenty of it, several high chairs, and two tables. The
smaller of these Reggie preferred to call his working table, the only
explanation of which seemed to lie in the fact that somebody often sat
on the edge of it when the chairs were full. Two or three school groups
and a couple of engravings hung on the walls, and the chimney-piece was
littered with things which reminded one of the delightfully vague word
“remnants,” and consisted of candlesticks, pipes, old letters, loose
matches, an ash tray, a clock which for the last month had been under
the delusion that it was always ten minutes to four, an invitation to
play in the Freshman’s football match, and another to see the Dean at
five minutes to seven, a watch and watch-chain, sixpence, a lawn-tennis
ball, a small wooden doll in hideous nakedness (no explanation
forthcoming), a pen, and a cigarette.
It was a cold evening, and Reggie wandered in and out of his bedroom,
in a state of betwixt and between, now clad only in a bath towel,
later on in a pair of trousers and socks, in the fulness of time
completely clothed. It still wanted five or ten minutes to seven, and
he stood in front of the fire warming himself till Hall time, feeling
in that deliciously half-tired, half-lazy mood which is the inimitable
result of violent exercise. He rummaged aimlessly in the débris on the
mantel-piece, and suffering the deserved fate of idle hands, found the
Dean’s note about which he had genuinely forgotten. He gave vent to a
resigned little sound, about half-way between a sigh and a swear, took
up his gown and left the room.
II.--IN FELLOWS’ BUILDINGS.
King, nine, twa, do you play them so?
Whae’s that a-calling?
I dinna ken, and I do not know
Whae’s that a-calling sae sweet.
ON THE BORDER.
And one clear call for me.
TENNYSON.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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