Stoner

Finch shook his head hopelessly. "Holly, this is all pointless."

"Wait," Lomax said. He glanced hastily at his notes and then looked up shrewdly at Finch. "I have a number of other points to make. I could develop them by 'cross examination'—he gave the words an ironic inflection—"but I am no attorney. But I assure you I am prepared to specify these charges, if it becomes necessary." He paused, as if gathering his strength. "I am prepared to demonstrate, first, that Professor Stoner allowed Mr. Walker into his seminar while holding incipiently prejudiced feelings against him; I am prepared to demonstrate that this prejudicial feeling was intensified by the fact that certain conflicts of temperament and feeling came out during the course of this seminar, that the conflict was aided and intensified by Mr. Stoner himself, who allowed, and indeed at times encouraged, other members of the class to ridicule and laugh at Mr. Walker. I am prepared to demonstrate that on more than one occasion this prejudice was manifested by statements by Professor Stoner, to students and others; that he accused Mr. Walker of 'attacking' a member of the class, when Mr. Walker was merely expressing a contrary opinion, that he admitted anger about this so-called 'attack' and that he moreover indulged in loose talk about Mr. Walker's 'behaving foolishly.' I am prepared to demonstrate, too, that without provocation Professor Stoner, out of this prejudice, accused Mr. Walker of laziness, of ignorance, and of dishonesty. And, finally, that of all the thirteen members of the class, Mr. Walker was the only one—the only one—that Professor Stoner singled out for suspicion, asking him alone to hand in the text of his seminar report. Now I call upon Professor Stoner to deny these charges, either singly or categorically."

Stoner shook his head, almost in admiration. "My God," he said. "How you make it sound! Sure, everything you say is a fact, but none of it is true. Not the way you say it."

Lomax nodded, as if he had expected the answer. "I am prepared to demonstrate the truth of everything I have said. It would be a simple matter, if necessary, to call the members of that seminar, individually, and question them."

"No!" Stoner said sharply. "That is in some ways the most outrageous thing you've said all afternoon. I will not have the students dragged into this mess."

"You may have no choice, Stoner," Lomax said softly. "You may have no choice at all."

Gordon Finch looked at Lomax and said quietly, "What are you getting at?"

Lomax ignored him. He said to Stoner, "Mr. Walker has told me that, although he is against doing so in principle, he is now willing to deliver over to you the seminar paper that you cast so many ugly doubts about; he is willing to abide by any decision that you and any other two qualified members of the department may make. If it receives a passing grade from a majority of the three, he will receive a passing grade in the seminar, and he will be allowed to remain in graduate school."

Stoner shook his head; he was ashamed to look at Lomax. "You know I can't do that."

"Very well. I dislike doing this, but—if you do not change your vote of yesterday I shall be compelled to bring formal charges against you."

Gordon Finch's voice rose. "You'll be compelled to do what?"

Lomax said coolly, "The constitution of the University of Missouri allows any faculty member with tenure to bring charges against any other faculty member with tenure, if there is compelling reason to believe that the charged faculty member is incompetent, unethical, or not performing his duties in accord with the ethical standards laid out in Article Six, Section Three of the Constitution. These charges, and the evidence to support them, will be heard by the entire faculty, and at the end of the trial the faculty will either uphold the charges by a two-thirds vote or dismiss them with a lesser vote."

Gordon Finch sat back in his chair, his mouth open; he shook his head unbelievingly. He said, "Now, look. This thing is getting out of hand. You can't be serious, Holly."

"I assure you that I am," Lomax said. "This is a serious matter. It's a matter of principle; and—and my integrity has been questioned. It is my right to bring charges if I see fit."

Finch said, "You could never make them stick."

"It is my right, nevertheless, to bring charges."

For a moment Finch gazed at Lomax. Then he said quietly, almost affably, "There will be no charges. I don't know how this thing is going to resolve itself, and I don't particularly care. But there will be no charges. We're all going to walk out of here in a few minutes, and we're going to try to forget most of what has been said this afternoon. Or at least we're going to pretend to. I'm not going to have the department or the college dragged into a mess. There will be no charges. Because," he added pleasantly, "if there are, I promise you that I will do my damnedest to see that you are ruined. I will stop at nothing. I will use every ounce of influence I have; I will lie if necessary; I will frame you if I have to. I am now going to report to Dean Rutherford that the vote on Mr. Walker stands. If you still want to carry through on this, you can take it up with him, with the president, or with God. But this office is through with the matter. I want to hear no more about it."

During Finch's speech, Lomax's expression had gone thoughtful and cool. When Finch finished, Lomax nodded almost casually and got up from his chair. He looked once at Stoner, and then he limped across the room and went out. For several moments Finch and Stoner sat in silence. Finally Finch said, "I wonder what it is between him and Walker."

Stoner shook his head. "It isn't what you're thinking," he said. "I don't know what it is. I don't believe I want to know."

Ten days later Hollis Lomax's appointment as chairman of the Department of English was announced; and two weeks after that the schedule of classes for the following year was distributed among the members of the department. Without surprise Stoner discovered that for each of the two semesters that made up the academic year he had been assigned three classes of freshman composition and one sophomore survey course; his upper-class Readings in Medieval Literature and his graduate seminar had been dropped from the program. It was, Stoner realized, the kind of schedule that a beginning instructor might expect. It was worse in some ways; for the schedule was so arranged that he taught at odd, widely separated hours, six days a week. He made no protest about his schedule and resolved to teach the following year as if nothing were amiss.

But for the first time since he had started teaching it began to seem to him that it was possible that he might leave the University, that he might teach elsewhere. He spoke to Edith of the possibility, and she looked at him as if he had struck her.

"I couldn't," she said. "Oh, I couldn't." And then, aware that she had betrayed herself by showing her fear, she became angry. "What are you thinking of?" she asked. "Our home—our lovely home. And our friends. And Grace's school. It isn't good for a child to be shifted around from school to school."

"It may be necessary," he said. He had not told her about the incident of Charles Walker and of Lomax's involvement; but it became quickly evident that she knew all about it.

"Thoughtless," she said. "Absolutely thoughtless." But her anger was oddly distracted, almost perfunctory; her pale blue eyes wandered from their regard of him and rested casually upon odd objects in the living room, as if she were reassuring herself of their continued presence; her thin, lightly freckled fingers moved restlessly. "Oh, I know all about your trouble. I've never interfered with your work, but—really, you're very stubborn. I mean, Grace and I are involved in this. And certainly we can't be expected to pick up and move just because you've put yourself in an awkward position."