that wears elastic-sided boots.’
‘We’ve been dining with the Woolgatherers,’ I said through a chink beside Wrather.
And the constable nodded his head and walked slowly away.
‘Sort of thing that will set him up,’ said Wrather; ‘if only he can remember it.’
I called on Wrather the very next day and told him about the dinner with the Dean. I did not talk science or philosophy with Wrather, because he was not interested in science, and as far as I could gather from the talk of a single evening the tenets of transmigration did not appeal to him. But I told him that the Dean kept a dog, and knew a great deal about dogs, and that when he had had a few glasses he thought he was a dog, and told dog-stories that were amusing and instructive. I told Wrather straight out that the Dean went very slow with wine, and that to get any amusement out of him he must be encouraged to take his whack like a reasonable sportsman. Wrather said very little, but there was a twinkle in his eye, that showed me I could rely on him whenever I should be able to get the Dean. And I think that there may have been also in Wrather’s mind, like a dim memory, the idea that I had helped him with a policeman, and he felt grateful. I watched next for the Dean at the club, and soon found him, and said that I hoped he would dine with me one day again, as I particularly wanted to ask him about the Greek strategy at Troy, a subject that I had found out he was keen on. He may have been a little afraid of that Tokay; on the other hand it attracted him. A man of the Dean’s degree of refinement could hardly fail to have been attracted by the Tokay, if he knew anything about wine at all; and Dean Spanley certainly did. He was not unpleased to be consulted by me about the Greek strategy; no man is entirely unmoved by being asked for information upon his particular subject; and he was very anxious to tell me about it. The final touch that may have decided him to accept my invitation was that he had beaten my Tokay last time, and so may well have thought that his fear of it was ungrounded. But an estimate of the Dean’s motives in accepting my invitation to dinner may not be without an element of speculation; the bare fact remains that he did accept it. It was to be for the Wednesday of the following week, and I hurried round to Wrather again and got him to promise to come on that day. I told him now still more about the Dean: I said that I was a writer, and wanted to get some of the Dean’s stories; but there are many different kinds of writers, and I was far from telling Wrather what kind I was, for I knew that, had I told him I was a scientist, I should merely have bored him; I let him therefore suppose that I wanted the Dean’s dog-stories only for what might be humorous in them, and he never at any time had an inkling of the value of what I sought, the Golconda of knowledge that was lying so close to me. I told him that Tokay was the key to what I was after, and that the Dean was rather difficult. ‘Did I ever tell you,’ asked Wrather, ‘a maxim that my old father taught me? Never trust a teetotaller, or a man who wears elastic-sided boots.’
‘Yes, I think you did,’ I answered. ‘But Dean Spanley is not a teetotaller. Only goes a bit slow, you know.’
‘We’ll shove him along,’ said Wrather.
And I saw from a look in his eye that Wrather would do his best.
And certainly Wrather did do his best when the night came. To begin with he appreciated the Tokay for its own sake. But there was a certain whimsical charm about him that almost compelled you to take a glass with him when he urged you to do so in the way that he had. I know that what I am telling you is very silly. Why should a man take a glass of wine for himself because another man is taking one for him self? And yet it is one of those ways of the world that I have not been able to check. Some abler man than I may one day alter it. We did not come to the Tokay at once; we began on champagne. And certainly Dean Spanley went very slow with it, as I saw from a certain humorous and mournful look on the face of Wrather, as much as I did by watching the glass of the Dean. And in the end we came to the Tokay; and Wrather goaded the Dean to it.
‘I don’t suppose that a dean drinks Tokay,’ said Wrather, gazing thoughtfully at his own glass.
‘And why not?’ asked the Dean.
‘They are so sure of Heaven hereafter,’ said Wrather, ‘that they don’t have to grab a little of it wherever they can, like us poor devils.’
‘Ahem,’ said the Dean, and looked at the glass that I had poured out for him, the merits of which he knew just as well as Wrather.
‘And then they’re probably afraid of doing anything that people like me do, thinking we’re all bound for Hell, and that their names might get mixed up by mistake with ours at the Day of Judgment, if they kept company with us too much.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said the Dean.
I tried to stop Wrather after a while, thinking he went too far; but he wouldn’t leave Dean Spanley alone: I had set Wrather on to him, and now I found that I could not call him off. At any rate the Dean drank his Tokay. ‘Well, what more do you want?’ Wrather seemed to say to me with a single glance of his expressive eyes, knowing perfectly well that I was trying to stop him. It was then that I asked the Dean about the Greek strategy at Troy. Dean Spanley put down his third glass of Tokay and began to tell me about it, and a look came over Wrather’s face that was altogether pro-Trojan, or at any rate against everything to do with the Greeks. As the Dean talked on I poured out another glass of Tokay for him and watched him, and Wrather watched too. He was getting near to that point at which the curious change took place: I knew that by little signs that I had noted before. Wrather sat now quite silent, seeming to know as much as I did of the effect of the Tokay on the Dean, though he had not ever seen him drink it before. But he was not there yet. I need not say what a thousand writers have said, that alcohol dulls the memory; I need not say what has been said for three thousand years, that wine sharpens the wit; both of these things are true; and both were to be observed in the same Dean. Some minds are more easily affected than others: when forgetfulness came to the Dean it came suddenly and very completely; had it not done so he would never have spoken out as he did. And right on top of the forgetfulness came this other phenomenon, the intense brightening of another part of the mind, a part of the mind that others of us may not possess, but far more likely, I think, a part that in most of us has never happened to be illuminated. It was, as I have said before, on only a narrow ridge that this occurred even with the Dean, only for a short while, only after that precise glass, that exact number of drops of Tokay, that makes the rest of us think, upon careful reflection long after, that we may have perhaps taken a drop more than was strictly advisable. This ridge, this moment, this drop, was now approaching the Dean, and Wrather and I sat watching.
‘If we compare the siege of Troy with more modern sieges,’ said the Dean, ‘or the siege of Ilion, as I prefer to call it, one finds among obvious differences a similarity of general principle.’
Only he did not say the word principle; his tongue bungled it, went back and tried it again, tripped over it and fell downstairs. An effort that he made to retrieve the situation showed me the moment had come.
‘Good dog,’ I said.
A momentary surprise flickered on Wrather’s face, but with the Dean bright memory shone on the heels of forgetfulness. ‘Eh?’ he said. ‘Wag was my name. Though not my only one. On rare occasions, very precious to me, I have been called “Little Devil”.’
The surprise cleared from Wrather’s face, and a look of mild interest succeeded it, as when a connoisseur notes a new manifestation.
Any difficulty the Dean had had with his tongue had entirely disappeared.
‘Ah, those days,’ he said. ‘I
