“That’s absurd!” Greybeard protested. “I could not possibly raise that amount, or anything like it. How did you acquire the vehicle, I would like to know.”
“Your labouring pursuits are telling on you somewhat, Mr. Greybeard,” Morton said. “We raise glasses but never voices in this room. Will you drink?”
Martha stepped forward.
“Mr. Morton, we would be delighted to drink.” She placed a coin on the table. “There is payment for it.”
Morton’s lined face straightened and achieved such a considerable length that his chin was lost inside his coat.
“Madam, a woman’s presence does not automatically make of this room a tavern. Kindly pocket money you are going to need.”
He poked his tongue round his upper gum, smiled sourly, raised his glass, and said, in a more reasonable voice than he had used before, “Mr. Greybeard, it was in this manner that the vehicle in which you are so interested came into our possession. It was driven here by an aged hawker. As friend Gavin will remember, this hawker boasted one eye and multitudinous lice. He thought he was dying. So did we. We had him taken in, and looked after him. He lingered through the winter – which was something a good many stronger men failed to do – and recovered after a fashion in the spring. He had a species of palsy and was unfit even for guard duty. To pay for his keep, he handed over his truck. Since it was worthless to us, he got good value for his money. He died after a drinking bout some months ago, cursing – as I heard the story – his benefactors.”
Moodily, Greybeard swigged his wine.
“If the truck is valueless to you, why not simply give it to me?”
“Because it is one of our assets, we hope an asset about to be realized. Suppose the garaging dues to be roughly as Vivian has estimated, four hundred pounds; we would let you take it away for two hundred pounds. How’s that?”
“But I’m broke! It would take me… you know how little I earn with Joe Flitch… It would take me four years to put that amount by.”
“We could allow you reduced garage rates for the period, could we not, Gavin?”
“If the Bursar were agreeable we might, yes.”
“Precisely. Say a shilling a day for four years… Vivian?”
“My head is not what it was. An additional seventy-five pounds, do I make it?”
Greybeard broke into an account of DOUCH(E)’s activities. He explained how often he had reproached himself for letting the truck go to the hawker, although the exchange had saved half Sparcot from starving.
The Students remained unmoved; Vivian, in fact, pointed out that since the vehicle was so valuable, and since he had not clearly established his ownership, they really ought to sell it to him for a thousand pounds.
So the discussion closed, with the college men firm in their demand for money.
Next day, Greybeard went to see the venerable Bursar, and signed an agreement to pay him so much every week, until the garage fee was settled.
He sat in their room that night in a gloomy mood. Neither Martha nor Charley, who had come round with Isaac to see them, could raise his spirits.
“If everything goes well, it will take us all but five years to clear the debt,” he said. “Still, I do feel honour bound to clear it. You see how I feel, don’t you, Martha? I took on the DOUCH job for life, and I’m going to honour my obligations – when a man has nothing, what else can he do? Besides, when the truck is ours again, we can get the radio working and we may be able to raise other trucks. We can learn what has been happening all over the world. I care about what’s going on, if the old fools who rule this place don’t.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could get in touch with old Jack Pilbeam in Washington?”
“If you really feel that way, Algy,” Martha said, “I’m sure five years will soon go.”
He looked her in the eye.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said.