The Mayor of Warwick | Page 5

was the juxtaposition of
the ancient and modern. The young man, clothed in a light grey suit, his
soft hat crushed in the nervous grasp of his long fingers, a man whose
scholastic training had been disassociated from religious traditions,
now stood face to face with mediaevalism, with two elderly men in
dark habiliments, as greatly superior to himself in that subtlety which
finds its highest expression in the ecclesiastical type as he was superior
to them in the acquisition of scientific truth.
Presently the bishop invited his young friend, as he already called the
new arrival, to walk with him about the grounds. Doctor Renshaw, left
alone, resumed his seat in the heavy oaken chair which had once

belonged to the founder of blessed memory, his shining head round as a
ball against the diamonded panes at his back, the framed plans of the St.
George's Hall of the future looking down upon him. On the broad stone
mantel rested an antique episcopal mitre of black cloth, decorated with
ecclesiastical symbols in tarnished thread, and a tall clock of almost
equal age stood silent in the corner, showing on its pale, round face the
carven signs of the zodiac. These objects seemed the peculiar property
of the solitary tenant of the room, rather than relics of a former time, so
still he sat, so convincing was the changelessness of his decorous age.
Meanwhile the bishop was giving Leigh new light upon his status in St.
George's Hall.
"I must tell you, Mr. Leigh,--for it is better to be frank always,--that
your appointment is in the nature of an experiment. Doctor Renshaw
engaged your services for a year while I was absent in Europe. I knew
nothing of it until my return, though I have every reason to believe, in
view of your excellent recommendations and family connections, that
the choice was felicitous."
Leigh listened to these words, so kindly but decisively spoken, with an
emotion of uneasiness not untouched by resentment. How premature
his thought of the presidency now appeared, how slight his claims to
consideration! He learned now definitely that the bishop was the real
president of the college, and that Doctor Renshaw was a fairly
negligible element in the situation. He divined also the proud and
self-sufficient spirit of the place, a pride entirely independent of
worldly success, of numbers and noise.
"To be equally frank, bishop," he returned, "I thought I had passed my
professional probation."
"We are all on probation, always," said the bishop, with a suggestion of
amused indulgence in his smile. "I am far from questioning your
professional capacity, but an arrangement for one year leaves us both
free to make other plans, in case we find that the adjustment is not as
perfect as we could have wished. However, that is a future contingency.
Quid sit futurum cras--you know the sentiment. If you leave us, it will

doubtless be at your own volition and, like the man in the parable, for
the purpose of taking a higher place."
He laid his hand affectionately on his companion's shoulder. "Now
here," he continued, "is the southern boundary of the quadrangle."
Having outlined the architectural possibilities of the future, he pointed
with his stick to the large bronze statue of the founder that stood on the
eastern verge of the plateau, opposite the tower.
"There is only one defect," he remarked, "in that otherwise fine work of
art. You observe that the bishop's hand is extended in blessing toward
the college, with the palm downward. Did you ever know a bishop to
hold out his hand in such a position?"
His air was that of a man who has turned from business to friendly and
familiar discourse with a sense of relief. They visited in turn two red
brick buildings placed at some distance beyond and below the sacred
square, devoted to scientific and athletic pursuits. Leigh wondered
whether their position symbolised their relative unimportance to the
magnificent hall upon the hill, and indicated a grudging concession to
the dominant scientific spirit of the times.
The bishop viewed the chemical apparatus with frank condescension.
"This is Blake's laboratory," he explained. "He amuses himself here
with experiments in odours. If people will give money for such
purposes, I suppose we must take it."
As they climbed slowly back to the plateau, he went lightly from one
subject to another. His gospel of affability had finally crystallized, until
it seemed to be contained in the formula of the small anecdote whose
point, as often as not, turned upon the foibles of men of his own
profession. The effect upon his listener was to put him at his ease, and
to remove entirely the impression which the bishop's explanation of his
position had made upon his mind.
"And now we