Porterhouse Blue by Tom Sharpe Page A

… er … legislation accepted by the Council, I use the term advisedly you understand, there is the question of finance to consider. We are not a rich college …’ He hesitated. The Master had raised an eyebrow.
    ‘I am not unused to the argument,’ he said urbanely. ‘In a long career in government I had heard it put forward on too many occasions to be wholly convinced that the plea of poverty is as formidable as it sounds. It is precisely the rich who use it most frequently.’
    The Bursar was driven to interrupt. ‘I can assure you …’ he began but the Master overrode him.
    ‘I can only invoke the psalmist and say Cast thy bread upon the waters.’
    ‘Not to be taken literally,’ snapped the Senior Tutor.
    ‘To be taken how you wish,’ Sir Godber snapped back. The members of the Council stared at him with open belligerence.
    ‘It is precisely that we have no bread to throw,’ said the Bursar, trying to pour oil on troubled waters.
    The Senior Tutor ignored his efforts. ‘May I remind you,’ he snarled at the Master, ‘that this Council is the governing body of the College and …’
    ‘The Dean reminded me earlier in the meeting,’ the Master interrupted.
    ‘I was about to say that policy decisions affecting the running of the College are taken by the Council as a whole,’ continued the Senior Tutor. ‘I should like to make it quite clear that I for one have no intention of accepting the changes outlined in the proposals that the Master has submitted to us. I think I can speak for the Dean,’ he glanced at the speechless Dean before continuing, ‘when I say we are both adamantly opposed toany changes in College policy.’ He sat back. There were murmurs of agreement from the other Fellows. The Master leant forward and looked round the table.
    ‘Am I to understand that the Senior Tutor has expressed the general feelings of the meeting?’ he asked. There was a nodding of heads round the table. The Master looked crestfallen.
    ‘In that case, gentlemen, there is little I can say,’ he said sadly. ‘In the face of your opposition to the changes in College policy that I have proposed, I have little choice but to resign the Mastership of Porterhouse.’ A gasp came from the Fellows as the Master rose and gathered his notes. ‘I shall announce my resignation in a letter to the Prime Minister, an open letter, gentlemen, in which I shall state the reasons for my resignation, namely that I am unable to continue as Master of a college that augments its financial resources by admitting candidates without academic qualifications in return for large donations to the Endowment Subscription Fund and selling degrees.’ The Master paused and looked at the Fellows who sat stunned by his announcement. ‘When I was nominated by the Prime Minister, I had no idea that I was accepting the Mastership of an academic auction-room nor that I was ending a career marked, I am proud to say, by the utmost adherence to the rules of probity in public life by becoming an accessory to a financial scandal of national proportions. I have the facts and figures here, gentlemen, and I shallinclude them in my letter to the Prime Minister, who will doubtless pass them on to the Director of Public Prosecutions. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’
    The Master turned and stalked out of the room. Behind him the Fellows of Porterhouse sat rigid like embalmed figures round the table, each absorbed in calculating his own complicity in a scandal that must bring ruin to them all. It took little imagination to foresee the public outcry that would follow Sir Godber’s resignation and the publication of his open letter, the wave of indignation that would sweep the country, the execrations that would fall on their heads from the other colleges in Cambridge, the denunciations of the other, newer universities. The Fellows of Porterhouse had little imagination but they could foresee all this and more, the demand for public accountability, possibly even