that it was old Labdakides I killed.
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: How could you dream it was?
The roads are filled
with old Cadmusian topers and their staffs
and pretty girlfriends. They ride out for laughs
to Three-Tined Fork and tell hitch-hikers there
a monster-story, just to throw a scare
into them. We lose a lot of folks
that way to angry strangers.
TALIPED: Your bad jokes
will cost you dearly one day. That old fault in
me of getting angry and assaulting
those who cross me — - it's my tragic flaw,
you might say — - well, I have it still. You saw
me threaten old Gynander. A word to the wise…
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: …is quite enough, sir. I apologize.
AGENORA: [TO COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN]
To me, too, if you know which side your bread
is buttered on. A man no good in bed
should be polite, at least.
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: Forgive me, Deaness.
AGENORA: You're cute when you're contrite.
TALIPED: I have the keenest
interest in this shepherd's testimony…
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: [Aside]
Here we go again. I hate this phony
Go-to-any-length-for-Answers bit.
TALIPED: Perhaps he was embarrassed to admit
that he ran off instead of fighting too.
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: Or that one man did in the Dean's whole crew.
TALIPED: How nice of you to mention that!
AGENORA: Now look:
You were alone at Three-Tined Fork. That shnook,
the shepherd, said it was a gang that cut
the Dean up. We all heard him say it. But
so what if he says something different now?
I told you once already, sweetie, how
Labdakides turned off our poor kid early
and beat the prophecy. So put your curly
head to rest on that point, baby. We'll
ring the shepherd in to give his spiel,
but nothing he can say will change the facts.
Proph-profs are for morons. So relax.
TALIPED: Gee whiz, I hope you're right.
AGENORA: I always am,
sweetheart.
[TO COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN]
Run along now, sport.
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: Yes, ma'am.
AGENORA: [TO TALIPED]
My little boy will have his little way.
Let's go in, till the shepherd comes, and play.
When Taliped and Agenora went into the Deanery, the committee reconvened onstage, this time in a circle, and holding hands skipped gravely clockwise on the strophes and counterclockwise on the antistrophes of their quite perplexèd ode.
Department-heads like us are loath [STROPHE 1
To question old traditions;
We honor deans and proph-profs both,
Despite their oppositions.
The Dean's our boss, and so we trust [ANTISTROPHE 1
Gynander was mistaken.
Yet proph-profs can't be wrong; we must
Preserve our faith unshaken.
To question proph-profs doesn't pay; [STROPHE 2
It leads to bold conjectures.
If students got that habit, they
Might criticize our lectures.
The Prophecy Department would [ANTISTROPHE 2
Go bankrupt. Heads would fall — -
Department-heads, perhaps. No good
Can come from doubt at all.
Dear Founder, Whose most cagey hand [STROPHE 3
Arranges how things go:
Preserve us from all changes, and
Maintain the status quo.
Keep us from doubts, reforms, imprudence, [ANTISTROPHE 3
New ideas, too;
And we'll see to it that the students
Still believe in You.
"That was a right pretty thought there," Peter Greene said. "I approve of that."
I remarked to Dr. Sear that it looked to me as though Dean Taliped might really turn out to have done what the Proph-prof Gynander foretold, in which case he was certainly the flunkèdest man in the University.
"He is that," Dr. Sear agreed. "But there's more to it." As Agenora came forth from the Deanery he added in a whisper: "The business of the ID-card comes up now. Very important."
Agenora displayed some green branches and small bottles which she was carrying, and addressed the committee:
AGENORA: For Pete's sake, simmer down, boys. Don't you think
I've been a dean's wife much too long to stink
my public image up? I know quite well
the Proph-prof's full of bull — but I won't tell.
I'll go to Founder's Hall and lay these sticks
and perfume-bottles on him, as the hicks
expect me to. That faker gets my goat,
but Agenora doesn't rock the boat.
[Enter MAILMAN
MAILMAN: Excuse me, lady — -
AGENORA: Well, now. Who's this?
MAILMAN: A Handsome Mailman.
AGENORA: How about a kiss,
handsome?
MAILMAN: Sure, kid.
AGENORA: Mmm. I think you'd better
repeat the message, honey. Mmm.
MAILMAN: This letter