The Fourth Estate

When Keith returned to St. Andrew’s, he had only ten days in which to carry out his father’s recommendations before the election took place. He tried every form of persuasion he could think of: tickets at the MCG, bottles of beer, illegal packets of cigarettes. He even promised one voter a date with his elder sister. But whenever he tried to calculate how many votes he had secured, he still didn’t feel confident that he would have a majority. There was simply no way of telling how anyone would cast his vote in a secret ballot. And Keith wasn’t helped by the fact that the headmaster didn’t hesitate to make it clear who his preferred candidate was.

With forty-eight hours to go before the ballot, Keith began to consider his father’s second option—that of fear. But however long he lay awake at night pondering the idea, he still couldn’t come up with anything feasible.

The next afternoon he received a visit from Duncan Alexander, the newly appointed head boy.

“I need a couple of tickets for Victoria against South Australia at the MCG.”

“And what can I expect in return?” asked Keith, looking up from his desk.

“My vote,” replied the head boy. “Not to mention the influence I could bring to bear on other voters.”

“In a secret ballot?” replied Keith. “You must be joking.”

“Are you suggesting that my word is not good enough for you?”

“Something like that,” replied Keith.

“And what would your attitude be if I could supply you with some dirt on Cyril Tomkins?”

“It would depend on whether the dirt would stick,” said Keith.

“It will stick long enough for him to have to withdraw from the contest.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll not only supply you with two seats in the members’ stand, but will personally introduce you to any member of the teams you want to meet. But before I even consider parting with the tickets, I’ll need to know what you have on Tomkins.”

“Not until I’ve seen the tickets,” said Alexander.

“Are you suggesting my word is not good enough for you?” Keith inquired with a grin.

“Something like that,” replied Alexander.

Keith pulled open the top drawer of his desk and removed a small tin box. He placed the smallest key on his chain in the lock and turned it. He lifted up the lid and rummaged around, finally extracting two long, thin tickets.

He held them up so that Alexander could study them closely.

After a smile had appeared on the head boy’s face, Keith said, “So what have you got on Tomkins that’s so certain to make him scratch?”

“He’s a homosexual,” said Alexander.

“Everyone knows that,” said Keith.

“But what they don’t know,” continued Alexander, “is that he came close to being expelled last term.”

“So did I,” said Keith, “so that’s hardly newsworthy.” He placed the two tickets back in the tin.

“But not for being caught in the bogs with young Julian Wells from the lower school,” he paused. “And both of them with their trousers down.”

“If it was that blatant, why wasn’t he expelled?”

“Because there wasn’t enough proof. I’m told the master who discovered them opened the door a moment too late.”

“Or a moment too early?” suggested Keith.

“And I’m also reliably informed that the headmaster felt it wasn’t the sort of publicity the school needed right now. Especially as Tomkins has won a scholarship to Cambridge.”

Keith’s smile broadened as he put his hand back into the tin and removed one of the tickets.

“You promised me both of them,” said Alexander.