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andsurges.Thereisabristlingofchimneysand
towers.Thereawhitechurch;thereamastamongthe
spires.Thereacanal.Nowthereareopenspaceswith
asphaltpathsuponwhichitisstrangethatpeople
shouldnowbewalking.Thereisahillstripedwithred
houses.Amancrossesabridgewithadogathisheels.
Nowtheredboybeginsfiringatapheasant.Theblue
boyshoveshimaside.“Myuncleisthebestshot
inEngland.MycousinisMasterofFoxhounds.”
Boastingbegins.AndIcannotboast,formyfather
isabankerinBrisbane,andIspeakwithanAustralian
accent.’
‘Afterallthishubbub,’saidNeville,‘allthisscuffling
andhubbub,wehavearrived.Thisisindeed
amoment–thisisindeedasolemnmoment.Icome,like
alordtohishallsappointed.Thatisourfounder;our
illustriousfounder,standinginthecourtyardwithone
footraised.Isaluteourfounder.AnobleRomanair
hangsovertheseausterequadrangles.Alreadythe
lightsarelitintheformrooms.Thosearelaboratories
perhaps;andthatalibrary,whereIshallexplorethe
exactitudeoftheLatinlanguage,andstepfirmlyupon
thewell-laidsentences,andpronouncetheexplicit,the
sonoroushexametersofVirgil,ofLucretius;andchant
withapassionthatisneverobscureorformlessthe
lovesofCatullus,readingfromabigbook,aquarto
withmargins.Ishalllie,too,inthefieldsamongthe
ticklinggrasses.Ishallliewithmyfriendsunderthe
toweringelmtrees.
‘Behold,theHeadmaster.Alas,thatheshouldexcite
myridicule.Heistoosleek,heisaltogethertooshiny
andblack,likesomestatueinapublicgarden.And
ontheleftsideofhiswaistcoat,histaut,hisdrum-like
waistcoat,hangsacrucifix.’
‘OldCrane,’saidBernard,‘nowrisestoaddressus.
OldCrane,theHeadmaster,hasanoselikeamountain
atsunset,andabluecleftinhischin,likeawooded
ravine,whichsometripperhasfired;likeawooded
ravineseenfromthetrainwindow.Heswaysslightly,
