Lucky Jim

If we institute an entrance exam to keep out the ones who can't read or write, the entry goes down by half, and half of us lose our jobs. And then the other demand: "We want two hundred teachers this year and we mean to have them." All right, we'll lower the pass mark to twenty per cent and give you the quantity you want, but for God's sake don't start complaining in two years' time that your schools are full of teachers who couldn't pass the General Certificate themselves, let alone teach anyone else to pass it. It's a wonderful position, isn't it?'

Dixon agreed rather than disagreed with Beesley, but he didn't feel interested enough to say so. It was one of those days when he felt quite convinced of his impending expulsion from academic life. What would he do afterwards? Teach in a school? Oh dear no. Go to London and get a job in an office. What job? Whose office? Shut up.

They entered the main building in silence, went into the Common Room, and moved over to their pigeon-holes. Dixon took out of his a reminder that he hadn't yet paid his Common Room subscription for the year and a postcard, addressed to /Jas Dickson Esq BA, /informing him of the publication of some flatulent work on textile trades in the time of the Tudors. These he dropped into the wastepaper-basket with the maximum of dispatch. Beesley was looking through a newly-arrived issue of the journal of university affairs to which he subscribed, muttering to himself. There was nobody else in the room. Before rousing himself to find Barclay, Dixon, feeling he could do with a sit-down at the start of such a day, dropped into an armchair and yawned.

In a moment or two Beesley came over, holding his journal open.

'Something that'll interest you here, Jim. "New appointments. Dr L. S.

Caton to the Chair of History of Commerce, University of Tucuman, Argentina." Isn't that the chap you sent your article to?'

'Christ, let me have a look.'

'You'd better get through to him a bit sharpish, before he escapes on the banana-boat. Looks as if his new review'll be packing up, unless he thinks he can edit it from there.'

'Oh God, this looks pretty bad.'

'I should get through to him on the blower if I were you.'

' Oh God. Yes, I will. Well, thanks for pointing it out to me, Alfred.

I'd better find Barclay before he gets a job out there too.'

A prey to vague but powerful misgiving, Dixon hurried out and over to the Music School, where, to his surprise, Barclay proved to be present, available, cooperative, and in possession of just the sort of book Dixon wanted. Feeling a little less disturbed, Dixon went round with it to the library and obtained, with almost sinister promptitude, a book on medieval costume and furniture. In the revolving door on the way out, his movement was abruptly checked by the intervention of somebody outside trying to revolve the door in the opposite, and (according to several large, well-designed notices) wrong, direction. It was Welch, looking suspkiously about him, stepping back with a frown as Dixon went on pushing and emerged by his side.

'Good morning, Professor.'

Welch recognized him almost at once. 'Dixon,' he said.

'Yes, Professor?' Dixon had forgotten until now Margaret's report that Welch, in common with the other members of his family, was 'out for his blood'. How would Welch manifest his pursuit of that entity? 'I was wondering about the library,' Welch said, rocking to and fro on his heels. He was looking more than usually wild-eyed and dishevelled this morning. There was a small golden emblem on his tie resembling some heraldic device or other, but proving on closer scrutiny to be congealed egg-yolk. Substantial traces of the same nutritive were to be seen round his mouth, which was now ajar.

'Oh yes?' Dixon asked, hoping to encourage Welch to indicate what point, within the framework of ideas connected with the library, could be taken as the focus of his wonderment.

'Do you think you could go there?'

Dixon began to feel definitely alarmed. Had Welch's long-heralded derangement finally come to pass? Or was this a bitterly sarcastic way of alluding to Dixon's own disinclination to approach any possible arena of academic work? Badly rattled now, he stole a glance over his shoulder to make sure that they were, in fact, standing within two paces of the library entrance. 'I expect so' seemed the safest sort of reply.

'You're not overburdened with work just now?'

'Just now?' Dixon bleated. 'I don't think I…'

'I was thinking of your lecture for Wednesday. I suppose most of it's complete by now?'

Dixon shifted the two books he had under his arm, in case Welch might be able to see their titles. 'Oh yes,' he said wildly. 'Professor. Yes.'

'I haven't got time to go to the library, you see,' Welch said in the tone of one removing the last trivial obstacle in the way of complete understanding. 'I've got to go in here,' he added, pointing towards the library.

Dixon nodded slowly. 'Oh, you've got to go in here,' he said.