Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Registrar, would you like some…”

“Where’s this man Metcalfe?”

The three of them stood, stunned, as a man looking ninety entered the room on sticks. He hobbled over to Robin, winked, bowed and said:

“Good afternoon, Vice-Chancellor,” in a loud, crotchety voice.

“Good afternoon, Horsley.”

James went over to Harvey and prodded him with his sticks as if to make sure he was real.

“I have read about you, young man.”

Harvey had not been called young man for thirty years. The others stared at James in admiration. None of them knew that in his last year at university James had played L’Avare to great acclaim. His Secretary of the Chest was simply a repeat performance, and even Molière would have been pleased with it. James continued:

“You have been most generous to Harvard.”

“That’s very kind of you to mention it, sir,” said Harvey respectfully.

“Don’t call me sir, young man. I like the look of you—call me Horsley.”

“Yes, Horsley, sir,” blurted Harvey.

The others were only just able to keep a straight face.

“Well, Vice-Chancellor,” continued James. “You can’t have dragged me halfway across the city for my health. What’s going on? Where’s my sherry?”

Stephen wondered if James was overdoing it, but looking at Harvey saw that he was evidently captivated by the scene. How could a man so mature in one field be so immature in another, he thought. He was beginning to see how Westminster Bridge had been sold to at least four Americans in the past twenty years.

“Well, we were hoping to interest Mr. Metcalfe in the work of the university and I felt that the Secretary of the University Chest should be present.”

“What’s this chest?” asked Harvey.

“Sort of treasury for the university,” replied James, his voice loud, old and very convincing. “Why don’t you read this?” and he thrust into Harvey’s hand an Oxford University Calendar, which Harvey could have obtained at Blackwell’s bookshop for £2 as indeed James had.

Stephen was not sure what move to make next when happily for him, Harvey took over.

“Gentlemen, I would like to say how proud I am to be here today. This has been a wonderful year for me. I was present when an American won Wimbledon, I finally obtained a Van Gogh. My life was saved by a wonderful, wonderful surgeon in Monte Carlo and now here I am in Oxford surrounded by all this history. Gentlemen, it would give me a great deal of pleasure to be associated with this famous university.”

James took the lead again:

“What have you in mind?” he shouted at Harvey, adjusting his hearing aid.

“Well, sir, I achieved my life’s ambition when I received the King George and Elizabeth trophy from your Queen, but the prize money, well, I would like to use that to make a benefaction to your university.”

“But that’s over £80,000,” gasped Stephen.

“£81,240 to be exact, sir. But why don’t I call it $250,000.”

Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre were speechless. James alone was left to command the day. This was the opportunity he had needed to show why his great-grandfather had been one of Wellington’s most respected generals.

“We accept. But it would have to be anonymous,” said James. “I think I can safely say in the circumstances that the Vice-Chancellor would inform Mr. Harold Macmillan and Hebdomadal Council, but we would not want a fuss made of it. Of course, Vice-Chancellor, I would ask you to consider an honorary degree.”

Robin was so conscious of James’s obvious control of the entire situation that he could only add:

“How would you recommend we go about it, Horsley?”