Sons of Fortune

“Yes, sir,” said Fletcher, “and he followed it up with a letter.”

“Then perhaps probation for the remainder of the term would be more appropriate,” suggested the principal, glancing at the chaplain.

“Along with the loss of all privileges, including weekend leaves, until further notice,” added Dr. Wade.

“Does that seem to you a fair compromise, Fletcher?” asked the principal, raising an eyebrow.

It was Fletcher’s turn to remain silent. “Compromise, Fletcher,” interjected the chaplain, “is something you will have to learn to live with if you hope to become a successful politician.”

Fletcher didn’t respond immediately. “I accept your judgment, Dr. Wade,” he eventually said, and, turning to the principal, added, “and thank you for your indulgence, sir.”

“Thank you, Fletcher,” said Mr. Fleming as the student president rose from his place and left the principal’s study.

“Wisdom, courage and conviction are rare enough in a grown man,” said the principal quietly as the door closed, “but in a child…”

“Then what is your explanation, Mr. Cartwright?” asked the dean of Yale’s examination board.

“I d

on’t have one, sir,” Nat admitted. “It must be a coincidence.”

“It’s quite a coincidence,” said the dean of academic affairs, “that large sections of your paper on Clarence Darrow are word for word identical to those of another student in your class.”

“And what’s his explanation?”

“As he submitted his independent study a week before yours, and it was hand-written, while yours was typed, we haven’t felt it necessary to ask him for an explanation.”

“Would his name be Ralph Elliot, by any chance?” asked Nat.

No one on the board commented.

“How did he manage it?” asked Tom, when Nat returned to Taft later that evening.

“He must have copied it out word for word while I was over at Miss Porter’s rehearsing for Twelfth Night.”

“But he still had to remove the thesis from your room.”

“That wouldn’t have been difficult,” said Nat. “If it wasn’t on my desk, he would have found it filed under Yale.”

“But he still took a hell of a risk going into your room when you weren’t there.”

“Not when you’re the student president; he has the run of the place—no one questions his coming or going. He would easily have had enough time to copy out the text and return the original to my room the same evening without anyone being any the wiser.”

“So what have the board decided?”

“Thanks to the principal going overboard on my behalf, Yale has agreed to defer my application for a year.”

“So Elliot gets away with it once again.”

“No, he does not,” said Nat finally. “The principal worked out what must have happened, because Yale has also withdrawn Elliot’s place.”

“But that only delays the problem for a year,” said Tom.

“Happily not,” said Nat, smiling for the first time. “Mr. Thompson also decided to step in, and rang the admissions tutor, with the result that Yale has not offered Elliot the chance to reapply.”

“Good old Thomo,” said Tom. “So what are you planning to do in your year? Join the Peace Corps?”

“No, I’m going to spend the year at the University of Connecticut.”