I Came Out of the Eighteenth Century

Chapter VII OXFORD AND RHODES SCHOLARS

CHAPTER VII Oxford and Rhodes Scholars THE THRIFTY TRAVELER TO A FAR COUNTRY IS NOT A DISCOVERER; having read guidebooks and steamship folders and listened to his friends, the learned Columbus will make a voyage of connnnation, and will approve according as he meets with the expected. A British visitor to Switzerland said, "I have seen the Jungfrau and the goiter and I am ready to go home." An American school teacher came upon the bust of Homer in the Capitoline Museum and exclaimed, "Ah Homer, how you do look like yourself." But once in a while the tourist will come properly equipped, with complete ignorance. One compatriot, on nrst seeing the Forum, said, "Must 'a' had a big nre here." When I got off the train in Oxford in the autumn of 191 I, I was, unfortunately, not completely ignorant. From the cab rank I chose a hansom, for I had seen its picture in my childhood reading of Chatterbox , and while the beery cabby stored my luggage on the roof I hopefully waited for him to make a witty remark. He did not, nor did one ever in my presence; he mumbled a question and I answered, "Queens College." We drove on the wrong side of the cobbled streets through dirty, grimy slums and past what looked like public buildings-post offices, courthouses, and the like-while I craned for the university. I never found it, then or later. How was I to know that Oxford was a state of mind? Presently we stopped in front of one of these buildings that sat 242 Oxford and Rhodes Scholars 243 Rush to the sidewalk and had for an entrance two huge wooden doors Ranked by columns of peeling sandstone. The cabby made a noise and began to climb down. As soon as I was out of the hansom I got my first lesson. The luggage had by then been deposited on the sidewalk, and when I stooped to pick it up an old man rushed out of the entrance, quivering with horror and pouring out apologetic sounds. I understood nothing, except that I was not to touch the luggage; but I did hear the h's dropping and this made up for lack of wit in the cabby. I had often wondered how h-less English would sound, but this was more than that: it was un-h'd. Where the letter belonged a hole of silence was punched. When I knew the old man better-he was the head porter-I liked to stand at the little window of his lodge and hear him punching, but at our first meeting he was teaching me something. Without saying so he was saying that I must never carry my own luggage, leading me into knowledge that would one day come under the general heading of "It isn't done." I did not protest. I humbly allowed his assistant to take the bags and show me to my rooms. He led me through the front quad, into the back, and to a stairway at whose entrance a sign said my name with seven others. While the luggage was being stored in the tiny bedroom beyond, I took in the coal fire burning in the grate, the furniture, ancient rather than antique, and the sun feebly shining through the windows of the sitting room. "Your scout will be 'ere presently, sir." I heard the words but not the meaning, for I had no notion what a scout was. Left alone, I examined the pantry and the bedroom, and wondered why its windows were barred. Then I sat down on the long settee in front of the fire. After a blank half hour the door opened and admitted a large mustache, the largest I had ever seen, followed by a small dark indistinguishable man who said, "I'm John, sir, your scout," and I knew what a scout was. "I'll make you some tea, sir." He did, and also let me understand that hereafter I was to make my own, that he would lay my 244 I Carne Out of the Eighteenth Century fire, bring breakfast, make up my bed and tidy the sitting room, bring lunch and whatever hot food I should order for tea-all this without saying much, while I drank tea inexpertly. Then John said (I never heard the rest of his name), "You'll be...