contemporary of his might listen to the call; Roy Calvert wanted it for a young Anglo-Catholic friend.
The college was inclined to think that Despard-Smith’s contemporary might be a trifle old. As for Roy’s nominee, he never stood a chance, though Roy pressed him obstinately. Roy never got the ear of a college meeting. He became too ingenious and elaborate; tête-à-tête with any of these men, he was perceptive, but when they were gathered together he became strangely maladroit. But Arthur Brown himself could not have manoeuvred a job for an Anglo-Catholic. At the bare mention, Jago, who was in fact an eloquent agnostic, invariably remembered that he had been brought up an Irish protestant. And all the other unbelievers would follow him in a stampede and become obdurate low churchmen.
So it happened that afternoon. The college would not take either of the names.
At that point, Crawford came in, and slipped quietly but noticeably into his place. He moved sleekly, like a powerful man who has put on weight.
‘My apologies, Mr Deputy,’ he said. ‘As I informed you, I had to put in an appearance at the faculty board.’
Despard-Smith gloomily, competently, recapitulated the arguments: it appeared to be ‘the sense of the meeting’ that neither of these men should be offered the living, and the question would have to be deferred until next meeting: it was, of course, deplorable: had Dr Crawford any advice to give?
‘No, Mr Deputy, I have no observations to make,’ said Crawford. He had a full, smooth voice, and a slight Scottish accent. He assumed that he would be listened to, and he had the trick of catching the attention without an effort. His expression stayed impassive: his features were small in a smooth, round face, and his eyes were round and unblinking. His hair was smoothed down, cut very short over the ears; he had lost none of it, and it was still a glossy black, though he was fifty-six. As he spoke to the Deputy, he wore an impersonal smile.
The financial business did not take long. The college was selling one of its antique copyholds at twenty years’ purchase; the college owned property in all the conceivable fashions of five hundred years; some early gifts had, by their legal form, kept their original money value and so were now more trouble than they were worth. When it came to property, the college showed a complete lack of antiquarian sentimentality.
‘If that is all,’ said Despard-Smith with solemn irritation, ‘perhaps we can get on. We have not yet dealt with our most serious piece of business. I cannot exaggerate the catastrophic consequences of what I have to say.’
He stared severely round from right to left. Luke, for one moment free from scribbling notes for minutes, had been whispering to Roy Calvert. He blushed down to his neck: he, and the whole room, became silent.
Despard-Smith cleared his throat.
‘The college will be partly prepared for the announcement which it is my painful duty to make. When the Master asked me to act as his deputy less than two months ago, I fully expected that before this term was over he would be back in the s-saddle again. I little imagined that it would fall to me to announce from this chair the most disastrous news that I have been informed of in my long association with the college.’ He paused. ‘I am told,’ he went on, ‘upon authority which cannot be denied that the Master will shortly be taken from us.’
He paused again, and said: ‘I am not qualified to express an opinion whether there is the f-faintest hope that the medical experts may be proved wrong in the event.’
Crawford said: ‘May I have permission to make a statement, Mr Deputy?’
‘Dr Crawford.’
‘Speaking now not as a fellow but as one who was once trained as a medical man, I must warn the society that there is no chance at all of a happy issue,’ Crawford said. He sat impassively, while others looked at him. I saw Jago’s eyes flash at the other end of the
The college was inclined to think that Despard-Smith’s contemporary might be a trifle old. As for Roy’s nominee, he never stood a chance, though Roy pressed him obstinately. Roy never got the ear of a college meeting. He became too ingenious and elaborate; tête-à-tête with any of these men, he was perceptive, but when they were gathered together he became strangely maladroit. But Arthur Brown himself could not have manoeuvred a job for an Anglo-Catholic. At the bare mention, Jago, who was in fact an eloquent agnostic, invariably remembered that he had been brought up an Irish protestant. And all the other unbelievers would follow him in a stampede and become obdurate low churchmen.
So it happened that afternoon. The college would not take either of the names.
At that point, Crawford came in, and slipped quietly but noticeably into his place. He moved sleekly, like a powerful man who has put on weight.
‘My apologies, Mr Deputy,’ he said. ‘As I informed you, I had to put in an appearance at the faculty board.’
Despard-Smith gloomily, competently, recapitulated the arguments: it appeared to be ‘the sense of the meeting’ that neither of these men should be offered the living, and the question would have to be deferred until next meeting: it was, of course, deplorable: had Dr Crawford any advice to give?
‘No, Mr Deputy, I have no observations to make,’ said Crawford. He had a full, smooth voice, and a slight Scottish accent. He assumed that he would be listened to, and he had the trick of catching the attention without an effort. His expression stayed impassive: his features were small in a smooth, round face, and his eyes were round and unblinking. His hair was smoothed down, cut very short over the ears; he had lost none of it, and it was still a glossy black, though he was fifty-six. As he spoke to the Deputy, he wore an impersonal smile.
The financial business did not take long. The college was selling one of its antique copyholds at twenty years’ purchase; the college owned property in all the conceivable fashions of five hundred years; some early gifts had, by their legal form, kept their original money value and so were now more trouble than they were worth. When it came to property, the college showed a complete lack of antiquarian sentimentality.
‘If that is all,’ said Despard-Smith with solemn irritation, ‘perhaps we can get on. We have not yet dealt with our most serious piece of business. I cannot exaggerate the catastrophic consequences of what I have to say.’
He stared severely round from right to left. Luke, for one moment free from scribbling notes for minutes, had been whispering to Roy Calvert. He blushed down to his neck: he, and the whole room, became silent.
Despard-Smith cleared his throat.
‘The college will be partly prepared for the announcement which it is my painful duty to make. When the Master asked me to act as his deputy less than two months ago, I fully expected that before this term was over he would be back in the s-saddle again. I little imagined that it would fall to me to announce from this chair the most disastrous news that I have been informed of in my long association with the college.’ He paused. ‘I am told,’ he went on, ‘upon authority which cannot be denied that the Master will shortly be taken from us.’
He paused again, and said: ‘I am not qualified to express an opinion whether there is the f-faintest hope that the medical experts may be proved wrong in the event.’
Crawford said: ‘May I have permission to make a statement, Mr Deputy?’
‘Dr Crawford.’
‘Speaking now not as a fellow but as one who was once trained as a medical man, I must warn the society that there is no chance at all of a happy issue,’ Crawford said. He sat impassively, while others looked at him. I saw Jago’s eyes flash at the other end of the
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