Seven or eight hands were being raised when Roope suddenly spoke again, and the hands were slowly lowered.
'Just before we vote, Dean, I would like to ask the Secretary for some information. I'm quite sure he'll have it at his fingertips.'
From behind his spectacles the Secretary eyed Roope with chill distaste, and several committee members could scarcely conceal their impatience and irritation. Why had they co-opted Roope? He was certainly a brilliant chemist and his two years with the Anglo-Arabian Oil Co had seemed a decided asset in view of the Syndicate's commitments. But he was too young, too cocky; too loud and splashy, like a vulgar speedboat churning through the placid waters of the Syndicate regatta. This wasn't the first time he'd clashed with the Secretary, either. And he didn't even serve on the Chemistry Committee; didn't do a scrap of examining. Always said he was too busy.
'I'm sure the Secretary will be glad to, er — What were you thinking of, Mr. Roope?'
'Well, as you know, Dean, I've not been with you very long yet, but I've been looking at the Syndicate's Constitution, and as it happens I've got a copy with me here.'
'Oh God!' mumbled the Vice-Dean.
'In paragraph 23, Dean — would you like me to read it?' Since half the committee had never even seen a copy of the Constitution, let alone read it, it seemed wholly inappropriate to dissemble any phoney familiarity, and the Dean nodded reluctant assent.
'Not, er, too long, I hope, Mr. Roope?'
'No, it's very brief. Here's what it says, and I quote: "The Syndicate will endeavour at all times to remember that, wholly dependent as it is for its income on public monies, it owes and must seek to discharge a corresponding responsibility both to society at large and to its own permanent employees. Specifically, it will undertake to employ in its services a small percentage of persons who are variously handicapped, should the disabilities of such persons prove not substantially to interfere with the proper discharge of the duties entrusted to them." ' Roope closed the slim document and put it aside. 'Now, my question is this: can the Secretary please tell us how many handicapped people are at present employed by the Syndicate?'
The Dean turned once more to the Secretary, whose customary bonhomie had now apparently returned.
'We used to have a one-eyed fellow in the packing department—' In the ensuing laughter the Vice-Dean, whose own particular handicap was a weak bladder, shuffled out of the room, where Roope was pursuing his point with humourless pedantry.
'But presumably he's no longer employed here?'
The Secretary shook his head. 'No. Unfortunately he turned out to have an uncontrollable weakness for stealing toilet rolls, and we—' The rest of the sentence was drowned in a ribald cackle of lavatory laughter, and it was some little while before the Dean could bring the meeting to order again. He reminded the committee that paragraph 23 was not, of course, a statutory injunction — merely a marginal recommendation in the interests of normal civilized, er, living. But somehow it was the wrong thing to say. Far wiser to have allowed the Secretary a few more anecdotes about his less-than-fortunate experiences with the unfortunately afflicted few. As it was, the subtle shift had been made. The man with the handicap was coming into the betting once more, his odds shortening further as Roope pressed his point neatly and tellingly home.
'You see, Dean, all I really want to know is this: do we feel that Mr. Quinn's deafness is going to be a significant liability in the job? That's all.'
'Well, as I said,' replied Bartlett, 'there's the telephone for a. start, isn't there? Mr. Roope perhaps isn't fully aware of the vast number of incoming and outgoing telephone calls here, and he must excuse me if I suggest that I know slightly more about this than he does. It's a very tricky problem when you're deaf—'
'Surely not. There are all sorts of gadgets these days. You can wear one of those behind-the-ear things, where the microphone is—'
'Does Mr. Roope actually know someone who's deaf and who—?'
'As a matter of fact, I don't but—'
'Then I suggest he is in real danger of underestimating the sort of problems—'
'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' The exchanges were becoming increasingly tetchy, and the Dean intervened. 'I think we all agree that it would be something of a problem. The real question is — how much of one?'
'But it's not just the telephone, is it, Dean? There are meetings — dozens and dozens of 'em a year. A meeting like this one, for instance. You get stuck in a meeting, with somebody on the same side of the table, sitting three or four places away. ' Bartlett warmed to the point, and made his case without interruption. He was on safer ground, he knew that. He was getting just a little deaf himself.
'But it's not beyond the wit of man to arrange the seating of a meeting—'
'No, it isn't,' snapped Bartlett. 'And it's not beyond the wit of man either to rig up a convenient little system of headphones and microphones and God knows what else; and we could all learn the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, if it came to that!'
It was becoming increasingly obvious that there was a festering, strangely personal antipathy between the two men, and few of the older Syndics could understand it. Bartlett was usually a man of wonderfully equable temperament. And he hadn't finished yet: 'You all saw the report from the hospital. You all saw the audiographs. The fact of the matter is that Quinn is very deaf. Very deaf.'
"He seemed to be able to hear us all perfectly well, didn't he?' Roope spoke the words quietly, and if Quinn himself had been there he would almost certainly have missed them. But the committee didn't, and it became perfectly clear that Roope had a point. A strong point.
The Dean turned again to the Secretary. 'Mm. You know it's amazing that he did seem to hear us so well, isn't it?'
A desultory discussion broke out, gradually drifting further and further away from the immediate decision that still remained to be taken. Mrs. Seth, the Chairman of the Science Committee, thought about her father. He had gone deaf very quickly when he was in his late forties and when she was only a schoolgirl; and he had been dismissed from his job. Redundancy money, and a meagre disability pension from his firm — oh yes, they'd tried to be sympathetic and fair. But he'd had such a clear brain, and he'd never worked again. Confidence irreparably shattered. He could still have done a whole host of jobs infinitely more efficiently than half the layabouts sitting idling on their backsides on office stools. It made her so very sad and so very cross to think of him.
Suddenly she was aware that they were voting. Five hands went up almost immediately for Fielding, and she thought, as the Secretary did, that he was probably the best of the bunch. She would vote for him too. But for some curious reason her hand remained on the blotting paper in front of her.
'And those for Quinn, please?'
Three hands, including Roope's, were raised; and then a fourth. The Dean began counting from the left: 'One, two, three. four. ' Another hand, and the Dean started again: 'One, two, three, four, five. It looks—' And then, slowly and dramatically, Mrs. Seth raised her own hand.
'Six.'
'Well, you've made your decision, ladies and gentlemen. Quinn has been appointed. Close vote: six-five. But there it is.' He turned rather awkwardly to his left. 'Are you happy, Mr. Secretary?'
'Let's just say we all have our own views, Dean, and the view of the Appointments Committee is not mine. But, as you say, the committee has made its decision and it's my job to accept that decision.'
Roope sat back once more staring vaguely at the ceiling, the yellow pencil once more between his teeth. He may have been inwardly gloating over his minor triumph, but his face remained impassive — detached almost.