Sons of Fortune by Jeffrey Archer Page B

explanation.
    During
his first term, Nat was relieved to discover that he rarely came into contact
with Ralph Elliot. His rival showed no interest in cross-country running,
acting or music, so it came as a surprise when Nat found him chatting to
Rebecca outside the chapel on the last Sunday of the term. Elliot quickly
walked away the moment he saw Nat approaching them.
    “What
did he want?” asked Nat defensively.
    “Just going over his ideas to improve the student
council. He’s running as the freshman
representative, and wanted to know if you were thinking of putting your name
forward.”
    “No,
I’m not,” said Nat firmly. “I’ve had enough of elections.”
    “I
think that’s a pity,” said Rebecca, squeezing Nat’s hand, “because I know a lot
of our class hope you will run.”
    “Not
while he’s in the field,” said Nat.
    “Why
do you hate him so much?” asked Rebecca.
    “Is
it just because he beat you in that silly school election?” Nat stared across
at Elliot and watched him chatting to a group of students- the same insincere
smile, and no doubt the same glib promises.
    “Don’t
you think it’s possible that he might have changed?” said Rebecca.
    Nat
didn’t bother to reply.
    “Right,”
said Jimmy, “the first election you can run for is as freshman representative
on the Yale college council.”
    “I
thought I’d skip elections during my first year,” said Fletcher, “and just
concentrate on work.”
    “You
can’t risk it,” declared Jimmy-”And why not?” asked Fletcher.
    “Because
it’s a statistical fact that whoever gets elected to the college council in his
first year, is almost certain to end up as president three years later.”
    “Perhaps
I don’t want to be president of the college council,” said Fletcher with a
grin.
    “Perhaps
Marilyn Monroe didn’t want to win an Oscar,” said Jimmy, as he produced a
booklet from his briefcase.
    “What’s
that?”
    “The freshman yearbook-there’s 1,021 of them.”
    “I
see you’ve once again begun the campaign without consulting the candidate.”
    “I
had to, because I can’t afford to hang around waiting for you to make up your
mind. I’ve done some research and discovered that you have little or no chance
of even being considered for the college council unless you speak in the
freshman’s debate in the sixth week.”
    “Why’s
that?” asked Fletcher.
    “Because
it’s the only occasion when all the frosh come together in one room and are
given the chance to listen to any prospective candidate.”
    “So
how do you get selected as a speaker?
    “Depends
which side of the motion you want to support.”
    “So
what’s the motion?”
    “I’m
glad to see you’re finally warming to the challenge, because that’s our next
problem.” Jimmy removed a leaflet from an inside pocket.
    “Resolved: America should withdraw from the Vietnam
War.”
    “I
don’t see any problem with that,” said Fletcher, “I’d be quite happy to oppose
such a motion.”
    “That’s
the problem,” said Jimmy, “because anyone who opposes is history, even if they
look like Kennedy and speak like Churchill.”
    “But
if I present a good case, they might feel I was the right person to represent
them on the council.
    “However
persuasive you are, Fletcher, it would still be suicide, because almost
everyone on campus is against the war. So why not leave that to some madman who
never wanted to be elected in the first place?”
    “That
sounds like me,” said Fletcher, “and in any case, perhaps I believe...”
    “I
don’t care what you believe,” interrupted Jimmy. “My only interest is getting
you elected.”
    “Jimmy,
do you have any morals at all?”
    “How
could I?” Jimmy replied. “My father’s a politician and my mother sells real
estate.”
    “Despite
your pragmatism, I still couldn’t get myself to speak in favor of such a
motion.”
    “Then
you’re doomed to a life of endless study and holding hands with my