The Babe, B.A. : being the uneventful history of a young gentleman at Cambridge UniversityBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
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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
For instance, his manner of entry after the
murder, changed every night. Once he stood at the palace door quite
silent for nearly a couple of minutes, until Dr. Propert turned quite
pale with the thought that perhaps the prompter might think that he
wanted prompting, and spoil the moment, wiping his hands slowly, and
smiling a ghastly smile at the chorus; once he came out quickly and
threw the axe away from him and plunged into his speech; once, and an
audible horror ran round the house as he did it, he broke into the
silence by a mirthless laugh as he fondled the axe with which he had
done the deed, like a mother nursing her child. In a word, he made it
clear, that Æschylus was a most excellent dramatist, and that he was a
most excellent actor.
XVI.--AFTER LUNCH.
I shall be by the fire, suppose.
BROWNING.
There were only three weeks more to the end of the term, but as soon
as the play was over, the Babe at once settled down again to his
social and historical duties. With December a hard frost had set in,
and football for a time was at a standstill. But next to football as
an after lunch amusement, the Babe preferred above everything else a
warm room, a large chair, and congenial company. With these objects in
view he asked Reggie and Ealing to lunch with him one day, and entirely
refused to go out afterwards. Reggie, who had a sort of traditional
notion that people always went out after lunch, or else they were ill,
was overruled by the Babe, who sent his gyp out to order muffins for
tea, and drew his chair close up to the fire.
[Illustration: KING’S PARADE AND CAIUS COLLEGE.]
“But it’s such a jolly day, Babe,” said Reggie, who was only half
persuaded.
The Babe looked out of the window and shuddered.
“By that you mean that there is a horrid smell of frost in the air,
that the sun looks like a copper plate, and that by walking very
fast and putting on woollen gloves you can get completely warm, with
the exception of the end of your nose. I hate woollen gloves, I hate
walking fast, and I hate the tip of my nose to be cold. I avoid all
these things by sitting by the fire.”
“Fuggy brute.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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