'Excuse me, Mr President,' he said, 'I understood we had agreed to a no-smoking rule at Fellows' meetings?'
'Well, that is certainly true, yes. Admiral Munroe, I wonder if you would mind . . . ?'
Munroe banged his pipe down on the table and gave Menzies a look charged with deepest venom. Menzies smiled and transferred a sweet from one side of his mouth to the other.
'Thank you,' said Clinton-Lacey. 'Now. JRFs and Bye-Fellowships. As this body is well aware, there has been '
Munroe sniffed the air loudly.
'Excuse me, Mr President,' he said. 'Am I alone in detecting a nauseating smell of spearmint in this room?'
'Er. . .?'
'It really is most disagreeable. I wonder where it could be coming from?'
Menzies angrily took the mint from his mouth and dropped it into the ashtray in front of him. Munroe smiled beatifically.
'Thank you,' said Clinton-Lacey. 'Fellows, we have a problem in retaining our present levels of postgraduates. There is a large number of Junior Research Fellows and Bye-Fellows that benefits from our grants and disbursements as you know. You will be far from unaware of the nature of the economic weather system that blows towards us from Westminster.'
Admiral Munroe ostentatiously pushed the ashtray into the centre of the table, as if the smell of mint still offended him.
Alex Corder, a theologian down the end of the table, barked a rather harsh laugh.
'Barbarians,' he said. 'They're all barbarians.'
'The government,' said Clinton-Lacey, 'the justice of whose doctrines we are not assembled here to discourse upon, has certainly struck an attitude towards the universities which must give us cause for alarm.'
'The Prime Minister is a scientist,' said Corder.
Garth Menzies raised his eyebrows. 'I'm sure no one would accuse the Prime Minister of academic partiality.'
'Why ever not?'.said Munroe.
'Well, whatever her possible bias,' said Clinton-Lacey, 'there is a feeling in government that the Arts side, oversubscribed by candidates for entrance as it already is, must be, er, honed, and extra encouragement given to the disciplines which can more productively . . .ah! Professor Trefusis!'
Trefusis stood in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips, peering vaguely as if unsure whether this was the right room or the right meeting. The sight of Menzies' disapproving glare seemed to reassure him; he entered and slid down into the empty seat next to Admiral Munroe.
'Well, Donald, I am sorry that you seem to have been delayed again,' said Clinton-Lacey.
Trefusis was silent.
'Nothing serious I hope?'
Trefusis smiled affably around the room.
'Nothing serious I hope?' repeated the President.
Trefusis became aware that he was being addressed, opened his jacket, switched off the Walkman that was attached to his belt and slipped off his earphones.
'I'm sorry, Master, did you speak?'
'Well yes ... we were discussing the fall-off in resources for the Arts.'
'The Arts?'
'That's right. Now Menzies coughed and pushed the ashtray towards Trefusis.
'Thank you, Garth,' said Trefusis, flicking the ash from his cigarette and taking another puff. 'Most thoughtful.'
The President persevered.
'We will not have enough money to create any more Junior Research Fellows in the Arts for at least two years.'
'Oh, how sad,' said Trefusis.
'You are not concerned for your department?'
'Well precisely.'
'What has English to do with 'the Arts', whatever they may be? I deal in an exact science, philology. My colleagues deal with an exact science, the analysis of literature.'
'Oh poppycock,' said Menzies.
'No, if anything it's hard shit,' said Trefusis.
'Really, Donald!' said the President. 'I am sure there is no need . . .'
'Professor Trefusis,' said Menzies, 'this is a minuted meeting of adults, if you feel you can't preserve the
