For, at the end of the school year, on the eve of the exams over which I have to preside, my absence is impossible.”
Mr. Patterson could not repress a gesture of surprise.
“Impossible, Mr. Director,” answered the accountant, “and he who will be summoned to take your place will indeed be fortunate.”
“Surely, I had many choices. But I needed a trustworthy man on whom I could count completely and who would be accepted without reservations by the families of the young scholarship-recipients. Well, I found this man in the personnel of the establishment.”
“I congratulate you, Mr. Director. It is, no doubt, one of the science or humanities professors.”
“No, because it is not acceptable to interrupt classes before vacation. But, it seemed to me that this interruption would be less of a problem for the financial situation of the school, and it is you, Mr. Patterson, whom I have chosen to accompany our young men to the Antilles.”
Mr. Patterson could not repress a gesture of surprise. Standing up, he had taken off his glasses.
“Me … Mr. Director? … ,” he asked in a rather troubled voice.
“Yes, you, Mr. Patterson, and I am sure that the bookkeeping of this voyage of scholarship-recipients will be as accurately maintained as that of our school.”
Mr. Patterson, with the corner of his handkerchief, wiped the lenses of his glasses, blurred by the mist in his eyes.
“I must add,” said Mr. Ardagh, “that, thanks to Mrs. Seymour’s munificence, an amount of seven hundred pounds has also been reserved for the mentor who will have the honor of overseeing these important functions. I will ask you, then, Mr. Patterson, to be ready to leave in five days.”
3 Mr. and Mrs. Patterson
If Mr. Horatio Patterson occupied the post of bookkeeper at the Antillean School, it was because he had given up his teaching career for one in administration. A Latin scholar of conviction, he regretted that in England the language of Virgil and Cicero did not have the same consideration that it enjoyed in France, where it was held in high esteem even at the university level.
The French race, it is true, can claim a Latin origin to which the sons of Albion could not aspire at all. And perhaps, in France, Latin will continue to resist the invasions of the modern curriculum?
Although he no longer taught them, Mr. Patterson was not any less faithful, deep in his heart, to the masters of Roman antiquity whom he idealized. While very fond of offering quotes by Virgil, Ovid, or Horace,1 he nevertheless devoted himself to being a rigorous and methodical accountant in administering the finances of the Antillean School.
With his strong sense of precision and meticulousness, he conveyed the impression of a model bookkeeper, who ignores nothing of the mysteries of the debit and credit, nor of the most minute details of accounting.
Having once earned awards in his exams in the ancient languages, he might now have received a top prize in a contest for bookkeeping or for balancing an academic budget.
Moreover, in all likelihood, it was Mr. Horatio Patterson who would assume the supervision of the Antillean School when Mr. Ardagh retired, after having made his fortune, since the institution was very prosperous, and it would not decline in these hands that were so capable of taking over such an important succession.
Mr. Horatio Patterson was only a few months over forty. A scholar more than an athlete, he enjoyed perfect health, which he never abused by any excess: a good stomach, an admirably regular heart, and top-quality lungs.
He was of discrete and reserved character, of perfect moderation, having always known how to never compromise himself by his actions or his words, a man who was both theoretical and practical, incapable of offending anyone, perfectly tolerant, and, to describe him by an idiom that would not displease him, very sui compos.2
Mr. Horatio Patterson, of above average height without being well-built and with drooped shoulders, had a rather awkward walk and a posture that lacked elegance. A naturally emphatic way of gesturing accompanied his words, articulated in a slightly pretentious manner. Even though his countenance was severe, he did not refuse to smile when appropriate. His eyes were pale blue, somewhat affected by short-sightedness which forced him to wear strong prescription glasses that he placed on the tip of his prominent nose. Lastly, often bothered by his long legs, he walked with his heels too close together, he sat awkwardly giving the impression he might slide off his chair, and he alone knew if he was able to stretch out or not on his bed.
There existed a Mrs. Patterson, thirty-seven years old at the time, a quite intelligent woman, without conceit or coquetry. Her husband did not seem amusing to her; he knew how to appreciate her work when she helped him with his bookkeeping. In fact, just because the accountant of the Antillean School was a man of numbers, one must not assume that he neglected his physical appearance or that he was careless with his hygiene. That would be a mistake. No! There was nothing better tied than the knot of his white tie, better polished than his boots with the patent leather tips, or better starched than his shirts. His personal aspect was even more irreproachable than his black pants, better closed than his vest which resembled that of a clergyman, or better buttoned than his frock coat that came down to his mid-leg.
Mr. and Mrs. Patterson occupied a comfortable apartment in one of the school’s buildings. The windows received light from the main courtyard on one side and on the other from the garden, planted with old trees and with grass that was kept freshly cut. It was made up of half a dozen rooms on the second floor.
It is to this apartment that Mr. Patterson went after his visit with the Director. He had not hurried, wanting to give his thoughts time to mature. Without a doubt, they would be no older than the few minutes by which he had extended his absence.
As a person accustomed to seeing clearly, to observing things in their true aspect, to balancing the question of pros and cons the same way he balanced the debits and credits on his big ledger book, the decision would normally be made quickly and definitively. This time, however, it was advisable not to embark3—that was the word—lightly on this adventure.
Before going home, Mr. Patterson paced up and down the courtyard, which was empty at this hour. He was straight like a lightning rod, rigid like a post, stopping, starting again, now with his hands behind his back, now with his arms crossed across his chest, his gaze lost in some distant horizon, well beyond the walls of the Antillean School.
Then, before going to consult Mrs. Patterson, he did not resist the desire to go back to his office to finish his bookkeeping from earlier in the day. And so, after one final check, his mind completely free, he would be able to discuss without any worries the advantages or disadvantages of the news he had received from his Director.
In short, all that took very little time, and, leaving his office on the first floor, he went up to the second floor at the same moment the students were getting out of classes.
Soon, here and there, different groups formed, and, among others, the one with the nine laureates. In truth, one might have said that they were already aboard the Alert, some miles off the coast of Ireland! And the subject of which they talked with such volubility was not difficult to imagine.
If the matter of this trip to the Antilles had been resolved, however, there was another question that had not yet been answered. Would they be accompanied from departure to arrival or not?
It seemed clear to everyone that they would not be left to go alone across the Atlantic. But had Mrs. Seymour designated someone in particular or had she delegated that task to Mr. Ardagh? It seemed difficult for the Director of the institution to be absent during this time. Therefore, who would be entrusted with this task, and had Mr. Ardagh already made his choice?
It might have occurred to some of them that it would be in fact Mr. Patterson. It is true that the