Father Excelsior nodded. “These are known as university press books in the trade,” he said, “and, under the circumstances, I think we should be very glad to get them. Strong as our list is, it could be stronger.”
“Now that’s not all,” Father Urban said, and explained that it was young Mr Thwaites’s hope to bring out a series of what might be called children’s classics. Oh, books like Robin Hood and King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table—but with a Catholic twist. Father Urban had been astonished to hear of the possibilities in this respect. “I’m told that Sir Lancelot is the real hero of the King Arthur story. Well, in the end Sir Lancelot lays aside his sword and becomes a priest. How many people know that? Now, in the case of Robin Hood, Mr Thwaites plans to move the story up in time, to set it in the so-called Reformation period, keeping it in England, of course. It’s all legends, you know, and so you have a pretty free hand. Robin Hood will still steal from the rich and give to the poor — you can’t very well get around that — but he’ll only steal from the rich who’ve stolen from the Church. So it really isn’t stealing. More emphasis, I understand, will be put on Friar Tuck — whether he’ll become the real hero of the book, I don’t know — and also on Maid Marian. It’s pretty generally known that she was Robin Hood’s girl friend, whatever that might mean, but how many people know that Maid Marian ended her days in a nunnery?”
“As a nun?” inquired Father Boniface.
“Yes,” said Father Urban, and this, he could see, was very good news to Father Boniface and to others who might have thought that Maid Marian was just doing time in a nunnery. “Mr Thwaites’s real interest, though, is in the spiritual classics. The children’s classics he calls his ‘bread and butter’ books.”
Father Excelsior nodded. “That’s a term we use in the trade,” he said.
“I don’t have to tell anybody here that such books could be a real shot in the arm to vocations,” said Father Urban.
“Mr Thwaites would like us to act as his publisher,” Father Boniface said. “Why us?”
“He wants a Catholic publisher, of course, and a good one,” Father Urban said. “Mr Thwaites has connections with the Dolomites, and did approach them, I understand, but now he and his mother — she’s a strong influence on him — would rather have us.” There was a bit more to it, which Father Urban didn’t go into. Dickie demanded that both the children’s and spiritual classics bear the name of Richard Lyons Thwaites as general editor. (“Coming from one who’ll not only do the work but foot the bill, a perfectly reasonable request, and I’m certainly amenable to it,” Father Excelsior had said to Father Urban the day before.) The Dolomites, however, didn’t care to be associated in any way with Dickie in Bishop Dullinger’s mind. Their big idea in life was keeping in with Dullinger. What would he think? What would he say? What would he do? Dickie also demanded that the spiritual classics, though bearing the imprint of the Millstone Press, be given a pleasing format, go forth into the world as “Eight Seasons Editions,” and be so announced and advertised. This, too, Father Excelsior said he’d accept, if necessary. The director of the Millstone Press had been having a hard time of it. He was another who’d be happy when Father Boniface’s three years were up. “Thousands for pamphlets, hundreds for the Clementine, and pennies for books.” Father Urban and Father Excelsior had decided it would be better not to raise the Eight Seasons issue at the chapter meeting, since it was a detail over which men with little interest in the larger concerns of publishing might choose up sides.
Father Excelsior had come prepared, if need be, to speak on the subject of editor and publisher, which subject (like those of writer and reader, writer and publisher, publisher and reader, reader and editor, writer and editor, and bookseller and all of these, in all possible combinations) was one he’d always done justice to at conventions and book fairs, but there was no need to hear any more from Father Excelsior that morning. With no more ado, the marriage arranged by him and Father Urban, the marriage between the Millstone Press and Eight Seasons Editions (though not in precisely those terms), was voted, Father Boniface said, “Permission granted,” and the meeting ended, as it had begun, with a prayer.
After that, many men, among them some who’d once been indifferent and even hostile, came up to Father Urban. They congratulated him, wished him well, pressed his hand, or just stood and gaped at him. Presently, when the room had cleared, Father Urban and his faction (and Father Siegfried) went off for a cup of coffee — swept off like Robin Hood and his merry men.
That night Father Urban departed from Union Station on the Western Star.
In the afternoon, before leaving the Novitiate, he had visited with his old confessor Father August. In the evening, he had dined with Billy and Father Louis in the Pump Room. Lobster and champagne, and Billy reaching the stage where he asked waiters why there were more horse’s asses—“horshes’s ashes”—in the world than horses, an old question with Billy, and Father Louis getting off on his favorite topic. Hard as it was for a superior man to keep from going sour in the Order of St Clement — no one knew this better than Father Urban — Father Louis might have handled himself better than he had in the Pump Room. “Clementines, Dalmatians, Dolomites — all third raters,” he’d informed Billy. Father Urban had hotly denied this, where the Clementines were concerned, citing Father Excelsior and one or two others. To this, with a great show of judiciousness, Father Louis had replied, “We have very few second-rate men.” Here Billy had laughed, and perhaps he hadn’t been scandalized (always the danger with laymen), and perhaps he’d believed Father Urban when he said that Father Louis was only joking, but it was still one hell of a thing to tell a benefactor. Wasn’t it odd, though? Father Urban, thinking it would be well for the Order if somebody on the spot kept in touch with Billy, had considered Father Louis the best available man for the job and had brought him along to dinner. Billy and Father Louis were compatible, but in a negative sort of way, and Father Urban rather hoped they wouldn’t be seeing too much of each other in his absence.