“Oh, good. What’s the idea, though?”
“Jerry wants to get into training for his club’s first crosscountry run, and Henry thinks a change will do the students good, I suppose. Can you be ready by two? That will give us a nice couple of hours and time for a bath and a change before tea. I’ve laid in some bangers. We can fry them over the gas-ring in my room. It will be like being back at school again.”
“Yes. Good! Fine! What about Barry, though? Wouldn’t he like to join us now he’s back from furlough?”
“No. He’s going to visit his wounded warrior in hospital and look in on Lesley’s damaged gymnasts.”
“What is Lesley doing, then?”
“Putting her Chronos Vase squad through it. Miss Yale and Celia are watching the film and the Warden says he’ll look in at it if he can. I say, did I ever tell you about my interview when he collected me on to the strength here?”
Hamish had heard the story before, but he was fond of his ingenuous friend and invited him to go ahead. He knew that Martin’s interview had not been so very different from his own, except for one pardonable mistake which Martin had made, a pitfall which Hamish had avoided.
“Well,” said Martin, “I only came down with a rather fluky third, you know, and I was applying for every scholastic job within reach, so I applied for this one. I hadn’t a hope, really, but it soon dawned on me that the last things the Warden cared about were academic qualifications. What he was after were good-tempered hearties, so the thing went somewhat as follows: (You have to imagine me with all my ganglions quivering, and being prepared to embrace the boss’s knees at the drop of a hat in order to get a job.)
Me. Good morning, sir. It is very good of you to see me.
Him. Good morning, my dear fellow. Sit down, sit down, won’t you? Now, let me see. What did we apply for?
Me. Assistant lecturer in applied maths, sir.
Him. Ah, yes, to be sure. Of course. I remember now. Well, my dear fellow—by the way, we are all on Christian name terms here, so I shall address you hereafter as—let me see now—your application form? Here we are! Yes, of course! I shall address you in future as Martin. Well, now, Martin! Applied mathematics, as it is understood at Joynings, is a severely practical subject. There will be a certain amount of lecture-room work, of course, but nothing which need worry you. Henry will know. Perhaps you would go out on to the field and find him. Look for a small, spare man wearing a regrettable tweed cap with his blazer. He will tell you what he wants you to do. Coaching of field athletics, I believe it is. You won an inter-college event, I understand, in some form of throwing competition when you were up.
Me. Yes, sir, I—that is, well, the shot. It’s not really a throw, it’s a putt. As a matter of fact, sir…
Him. Gassie, my dear Martin, Gassie.
Me. I didn’t mean to be loquacious, sir. I’m very sorry. I only meant to tell you…
Him. Loquacious?
Me. Gassy, sir.”
Hamish laughed. “You are an ass!” he said.
“I could see a new thought had come to him,” went on Martin, “but you know, Jimmy, I can no more envisage myself addressing the Warden as Gassie than taking a trip in a space thingummy to the moon. However—I don’t believe I’ve told anybody this bit—I went on to tell him that, when he put me right, I was only going to say that I was really a javelin man. We were short on the shot that year, so I agreed to take it on, but it wasn’t my best event. All he said was, ‘Splendid, my dear Martin. Henry is the small, alert man in the loud tweed cap which he insists upon wearing with his blazer.’ ”
“His method of terminating all interviews, I think,” said Hamish, reserving to himself the fact that Gascoigne’s last interview had not been concluded in quite that way. “What about this run?”
“The run? Oh, I’m leaving that to Jerry. He’ll know a route. About seven miles is my idea, but he may want to stretch it to twelve.”
“If he does,” said Hamish, “I think you and I will take a short cut home and fry the bangers.”
Jerry, however, was willing to allow that six or seven miles at that time of year would be sufficient.
“It’s damned hot today,” he said. “Heard the latest about Jonesy?”
“If you mean in connection with Bertha’s father,” began Martin, “the answer is yes.”
“Oh, no. Since then. It seems Jonah has been to old Gassie and offered his resignation. One of my sprint relay lot told me.”
“No!” exclaimed Martin and Hamish in chorus.
“Fact. Had it from Jonah himself, so the lad said.”
“When?” asked Hamish, the conversation he had overheard being fresh in his mind. “When did you hear this?”
“Just a few minutes ago. Jonah told this chap that the Bertha story—which is all round College, by the way—was all my eye, but that it had hurt him to think Gassie believed it, so, in order to resolve the situation (the kid’s words, not mine) Jonah had decided to leave.”
“Does anybody else know?” asked Martin.
“Soon will, anyhow. Well, now, do you chaps think we’d better just look in on Henry and Ma Yale to make sure everything is still all right in the dining-hall before we go off?”
The idea that this was at all necessary tickled Hamish, since Henry possessed apparently hypnotic or occult powers where the management and control of the students was concerned, and Miss Yale was the last person on earth to need assistance with College discipline.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think he’d thank us,” he said. “Bit of an interruption, if he’s already got the film started, wouldn’t you think?”
“I don’t know. There’s a funny feeling abroad,” said Martin,“ and there’ll be whoopee, anyway, once the students know Jonah is going to leave us.”
“If he really is going to leave us,” said Hamish, again remembering the last words he had heard Jones address to the Warden, and the arrogant sound of a loudly-slammed door.
The cross-country run was enjoyable and was completely without incident. When it was over, the three runners, bathed and changed, assembled in Martin’s room to fry the sausages and settle down to consume these and the rest of the feast which he had provided, and the College, intent upon its own tea, appeared to be at peace. The two young women lecturers, with Henry and Barry (who had returned from the hospital), were entertained to buttered scones and cake by Miss Yale and Gascoigne, it was assumed, was taking tea in his own quarters, so that the only person who appeared to be unaccounted for was Jones, although nobody was particularly concerned about this, as he often took tea with Gascoigne before spending the evening at the Bricklayers’ Arms. His name, however, came up as usual.
“I can’t understand Gassie over this Bertha business,” said Lesley. “Hang it all, here he had the chance to get rid of Jonah once and for all, and without a decent testimonial, at that. Instead of kicking him out, he just lets him resign as though he was a decent type like any other of us.”
“So long as he goes, I don’t care how it comes about,” said Celia. “I never got around to telling you what he did to one of my divers. It was the week before Jimmy joined the strength, and I honestly believe that if Jimmy had been with us at the time he would have treated Jonah as one of my girls told me he treated that little swine Kirk at his first French lecture. If Jones—”
“I wish to heaven we could keep Jones out of the conversation,” said Barry. “The very sound of his name makes me feel murderous.”
“Me, too,” said Lesley. “How did you find my two girls? You went to see them, didn’t you?”