“I expect he would if you explain who you are.”

It was not till the end of dinner that evening that any reference was made in the common-room to the subject that was in all their minds.  Then it was Sighs who asked: 

“Well, what did you think of our new head?” They thought of the conversation at luncheon.  It was hardly a conversation; it was a monologue.  Perkins had talked incessantly.  He talked very quickly, with a flow of easy words and in a deep, resonant voice.  He had a short, odd little laugh which showed his white teeth.  They had followed him with difficulty, for his mind darted from subject to subject with a connection they did not always catch.  He talked of pedagogics, and this was natural enough; but he had much to say of modern theories in Germany which they had never heard of and received with misgiving.  He talked of the classics, but he had been to Greece, and he discoursed of archaeology; he had once spent a winter digging; they could not see how that helped a man to teach boys to pass examinations, He talked of politics.  It sounded odd to them to hear him compare Lord Beaconsfield with Alcibiades.  He talked of Mr. Gladstone and Home Rule.  They realised that he was a Liberal.  Their hearts sank.  He talked of German philosophy and of French fiction.  They could not think a man profound whose interests were so diverse.

It was Winks who summed up the general impression and put it into a form they all felt conclusively damning.  Winks was the master of the upper third, a weak-kneed man with drooping eye-lids, He was too tall for his strength, and his movements were slow and languid.  He gave an impression of lassitude, and his nickname was eminently appropriate.

“He’s very enthusiastic,” said Winks.

Enthusiasm was ill-bred.  Enthusiasm was ungentlemanly.  They thought of the Salvation Army with its braying trumpets and its drums.  Enthusiasm meant change.  They had goose-flesh when they thought of all the pleasant old habits which stood in imminent danger.  They hardly dared to look forward to the future.

“He looks more of a gipsy than ever,” said one, after a pause.

“I wonder if the Dean and Chapter knew that he was a Radical when they elected him,” another observed bitterly.

But conversation halted.  They were too much disturbed for words.

When Tar and Sighs were walking together to the Chapter House on Speech-Day a week later, Tar, who had a bitter tongue, remarked to his colleague: 

“Well, we’ve seen a good many Speech-Days here, haven’t we?  I wonder if we shall see another.”

Sighs was more melancholy even than usual.

“If anything worth having comes along in the way of a living I don’t mind when I retire.”

XVI