Brown had been speaking in a reasonable, moderate tone, but heavily, almost as though he had been giving his judgment to the other seniors. He added: “There’s only one good thing to be said about this wretched business. The whole college was absolutely solid about it. I don’t need to tell you that that’s not exactly common form. But if the college hadn’t been solid for once, it would have made things difficult. The place wouldn’t have been any too comfortable to live in. And I don’t want to exaggerate, but we might have walked straight into trouble outside. This is just the kind of thing that could have got us into the papers, and if that had happened, it would have done us more harm than I like to think about.”
Francis Getliffe had already gone, and the party was breaking up. Just as Martin said goodnight to Brown, and waited to take me across the staircase to his rooms, I was remarking on the new picture of the Master in the hall. “There’s exactly room for one more beside it,” I said as I stood up to go, “and then you’ll have to think again.”
I noticed Brown glancing sharply at me. Still sitting in his armchair, he tugged at my sleeve.
“Stay here a few minutes,” he said. He smiled at Martin: “He can find his own way to your bedroom, can’t he? After all, he’s done it plenty of times, more than you have, I suppose. And I don’t get many chances to talk to him these days.”
Martin said that it was time he went home to his wife. Like me, he suspected that Arthur Brown was not just idly keeping me back for the sake of company. When we were left alone, Brown made sure that I was settled in the chair opposite to him. He became more than ever hospitable and deliberate. “More brandy?”
No, I wouldn’t drink any more that night.
“Old chap,” he said, “it’s very nice to see you sitting there again.”
He had always been fond of me. At times he had defended and looked after me. Now he had the warm, sharp-edged, minatory affection that one feels for a protégé who has done pretty well. Was everything going all right? How was my wife? My son?
“So everything’s reasonably smooth just now, is it? That’s perfectly splendid. Do you know, Lewis, there was a time when I was afraid things weren’t going to turn out smooth for you.”
He gave me a kind, satisfied smile. Then he said, quite casually: “By the way, when you were talking about the Master’s picture, it just crossed my mind that you might have heard something. I suppose you haven’t, by any chance, have you?”
“No,” I said, surprised.
Brown said: “No, of course, I thought you couldn’t have.”
His expression was steady and unperturbed.
“Just for a moment, though on second thoughts I can see you couldn’t have been, I fancied you might be casting a fly.”
I shook my head, but now I thought I was following him.
“Well, what’s happening?” I said.
“The trouble is,” said Brown with satisfied gravity, “I’m not quite sure how much I’m at liberty to tell you. The whole matter is very much at the stage where no one has wanted to come out in the open. In my judgment the longer they put it off the more chance we have of avoiding ructions and coming to a decent conclusion.”
“What’s the point?” I asked again.
Brown pursed his lips. “Well, within these four walls, I think I’m not breaking any obligations if I tell you this. When the present Master retires, which is at the end of next year, not the academic but the calendar year, some of the society have asked me whether I would consider offering myself as a candidate.”
Yes, I had got there five minutes before. But, until he began to talk, I had not been expecting it. I had taken it for granted that Francis Getliffe had the next Mastership in the bag. On and off over the last two years, I had heard it discussed. The only name that anyone mentioned seriously was that of Francis.
“Who are your backers, Arthur?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “without their permission I don’t think that I ought to specify them at this stage, but I believe they’d let me say that there are enough of them to make the suggestion not entirely frivolous. And I think I might indicate that there were one or two of them recently present in this room.”
He was smiling blandly. He did not seem anxious, elated or depressed.
“If I were to ask for your advice whether to let my candidature go forward or not, Lewis, I wonder what you’d say?”
I hesitated. They were both friends of mine, and I was glad that I should be out of it. But I was hesitating for a different reason. I was afraid, despite what Brown had just said, that he would get few votes — perhaps so few as to be humiliating. I did not like the thought of that. I could not see any college not preferring Francis Getliffe when it came to the point.
“I think I know what’s in your mind,” Brown was saying. “You’re thinking that our friend Francis is out of comparison a more distinguished man than I am, and of course you’re right. I’ve never made any secret of it, I should be satisfied to see Francis Getliffe as Master of this college. Between ourselves, there are only three distinguished men here, and he’s one of them, the other two being the present Master and I suppose we’ve still got to say old Gay. I’ve never had delusions about myself, I think you’ll grant me that, old chap. I’ve never been really first rate at anything. It used to depress me slightly when I was a young man.”
He meant, I knew, precisely what he said. He was genuinely humble: he did not credit himself with any gifts at all.
I said: “I was thinking something quite different.”
Brown went on: “No, it’s perfectly right that the college should consider whether they could put up with an undistinguished person like me, in comparison with a very distinguished one like Francis. But one or two members of the society have put an interesting point of view which has made me think twice before saying no once and for all. Their view is that we’ve just had a Master of great external distinction, even more so than Francis’. So one or two people have represented to me that the college can afford someone who wasn’t much known outside but who could keep things going reasonably well among ourselves. And they paid me the compliment of suggesting that I might have my uses in that respect.”
“They are dead right,” I said.
“No,” he said, “you’ve always thought too much of me. Anyway, some time within the next twelve months I shall have to decide whether to let my name go forward. Of course, it’s my last chance and it isn’t Francis’. Perhaps I should be justified in taking that into account. Well, I’ve got plenty of time to make up my mind. I don’t know which way I shall come down.”
He had, of course, already “come down”. He was thinking, I was sure — although he had no vanity, he was a master-politician — about how his supporters ought to be handling his campaign and about how much more capably he would do it in their place. He was thinking too, I guessed, that it had been useful to talk to me, apart from warmth, affection and reciprocal support. I believed that he was hoping I should mention this conversation to Martin.
3: A Sealing-Day
ABOUT half past twelve the next morning, which was a Sunday, Martin and I were sitting in one of his window seats gazing over the court. On the far wall, most of the leaves of creeper had fallen by now, but in the milky sunlight one or two gleamed, nearer scarlet than orange. Martin was just saying to me — did I notice one difference from before the war? There were no kitchen servants carrying trays round the paths, green baize over the trays. Martin was saying that for him green baize was what he first remembered about the college, when the telephone rang.
As he answered it, I heard him reply: “Yes, I can come. Glad to.” Then he was listening to another question, and answered: “I’ve got my brother Lewis here. He’ll do for one, won’t he?” Martin put the receiver down and said, “The Bursar’s polishing off some conveyances, and he wants us to go and sign our names.”