Couples drifted away out of the common room, two by two following each other, into the corridor outside, up a short flight of stairs and then to the SCR entrance to the dining hall. Traipsing up after them, almost at the rear of the procession, George couldn’t help but think this was just like animals going up the gangplank following Noah into the Ark. Duncan and Sally were right behind him so George turned and let out a low moo. Duncan strangled a guffaw.
“George! Behave yourself!” Sally stared at him.
“Really, George! You’re worse than a teenager!” Carol whispered fiercely.
The line of guests for High Table entered the dining hall and moved around to find their places – each individually named – whilst the gathered numbers of students all stood to attention and waited. It was all very dignified. Then the President of the JCR came forward and recounted out loud the grace in Latin, very prettily done, before everyone took their seats and each table instantly erupted in conversation. Waitresses came forward and circulated the first dish, soup, while bottles on each table were passed around and a choice of red or white wines was offered to all.
George looked about him, taking it all in. It really was a most civilised gathering. How things change. Last time I was here, he thought, I was rushing crazily from end to end, with porters and students running after me, and I was crashing about, upending breakfast on one table after another. He was glad no one else knew that but he.
George’s attention was brought back to High Table and the people either side and opposite. He was seated between Carol and Sally; Professor Collins, the ex-Master, was diagonally across the table and next to his wife, but smack in front of George was someone else he now recognised. He was a handsome enough fellow: possessing sun-tanned, striking features; he wore glasses and had the air of someone who thought himself important. It was the man George had last seen in a Barbour jacket walking his two Dalmatians. It was a certain Dr Jordan Humphries and he was trying to make conversation with Carol, whom he recognised from that day of the dog display.
“So you’re the new Welfare Officer here are you? And how’s student welfare?” He smiled and flashed his eyes at Carol but showed as much interest in this profession as the plate of soup which he left to go cold in front of him.
“Ooh, I’m trying to give them as many problems as I can,” Carol answered sarcastically. She could see the sort he was – handsome, and he knew it. She had had years of experience of this type.
“And I’m sure you’re very successful too,” he rejoined. “What’s your background?”
“Psychology, Edinburgh,” Carol sniffed. Bloody nerve, she thought. What right has he got to go prying into my background on a social occasion such as this? “What’s yours?”
“Geophysics, Cambridge.” Humphries grinned. “That’s a real science, not a pseudo-science!”
George exploded. “Pseudo-science? Good grief! I’ve seen more pseuds in geophysics than I’ve ever seen in psychology!” He was not going to have this dog castrator insult his partner for the evening.
“Have you, indeed?” The arrogant geophysicist was unmoved. “And you’re the experimental psychologist? I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I haven’t seen you either,” George replied sweetly. This was a lie of course – the last time he had seen him, Jordan Humphries was rolling around in dog dung. It suited him, George thought.
“Are you at Durham?” Humphries was still pushing, wanting to see if George could be labelled, categorised, and thus dispensed with.
“Nope.” George wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Private practice. Nothing pseud. I see real people and animals. Lots of amazing behaviour. Not inanimate rocks…”
“Well, my friend, inanimate rocks yield the most amazing secrets to scientific enquiry. Just how many secrets can your pseudo-science reveal, eh? Just exactly what predictive power does experimental psychology possess?”
Professor Geoffrey Collins could see the sparks just beginning to fly here and thought he’d better defuse the situation. “Well, what you’ve been researching recently sounds interesting, George, want to tell us something about it?”
Carol and Sally were privately scared. George was getting well out of his depth in this university milieu and that bastard across the table would absolutely wallow in triumph if he could strip away George’s cover and reveal him for the imposter that he actually was.
George was not going to back down, however. His girl had been insulted by that strutting cockerel opposite and now the Barboured Bantam was crowing that his work was more scientific and far superior to anything that George could offer. Well, there were a couple of aces George reckoned he could play if he could just shift the conversation in the right direction.
“Ahem, Professor Collins, you know it’s said that people get to look like their pets over time? Well I’m not so sure. But there is, I believe, some interesting correlations you can pursue about the types of people and the types of dogs they have…”
“Och, man…like they say about people and the cars they drive?” Duncan inclined his head on the other side of Sally and looked along at George. He wasn’t about to leave him to go it alone in the head-to-head contest that he could see was coming.
“Yes, yes,” said Jordan Humphries feigning indifference. “Boring accountants trying to compensate by driving E-type Jags, that sort of thing…”
Carol almost choked on her meal. She took a sip of wine to wet her throat and then slipped a hand down to squeeze George on the thigh. She wanted to tell him that this accountant didn’t need a flash motor to compensate for anything.
“Well, there’s all sorts of anecdotal evidence about that, of course,” George was getting into his stride. “We can have a look at that in a bit, if you like, but that wouldn’t satisfy our geophysicist here. Not rigorous enough.”
George waved his hand in Jordan Humphries’ direction. The said scientist grimaced like a dead fish. George was holding centre stage now, had captured most of the table’s attention and he had just anticipated his adversary’s main criticism, leaving him little room to regain the initiative.
“No, cars are not my field of enquiry…” George harrumphed. He’d got the hang of this academic talk and was going to ram it down the throat of his rival opposite. “My interest was actually awoken by observing the greyhound of my partner for this evening – the lovely Carol…”
All eyes swivelled around to look at the lovely Carol. She was certainly an eyeful, and most people on High Table enjoyed looking at her – though George held his head aside, looking nowhere in particular whilst he was marshalling his thoughts. Carol meanwhile was holding her breath. It was like when she watched George as a greyhound – knowing that there was some stunt he was going to pull and no observer knew it, only her. But she couldn’t for the life of her guess what he was up to.
“Carol’s greyhound is a very well-behaved, somewhat passive and very cooperative female. A lovely dog. Her owner is equally lovely, of course, but her character is the opposite in every other way…”
“George, that is too much!” Carol blustered whilst others around the table began to laugh. Carol was clearly well–known and liked by many of the SCR. “You’re implying that I’m badly behaved and uncooperative?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way myself…but certainly highly active and…and untamed, shall we say?”
“What a nerve you have, George Potts!” Carol protested. She was smiling, however, albeit she still didn’t know what his game was.
“Well said, sir! I entirely agree. And her colleague is the same. Sally and Carol in the same house as their poor greyhound. No wonder that dog is like she is!” Duncan raised his wine glass. “Here’s to experimental psychology!” There was more laughter at that.
“Come, come, sir. This is hardly science. One dog’s behaviour contrasting with its owner, or owners? You cannot convince anyone with such paltry evidence.” Humphries was determined to ridicule this whole charade.
“
I quite agree, quite agree. My, um, hypothesis is not based on just this case, however. I have been observing dogs for some little time now, quite closely. And there are definitely some firm conclusions that are possible. Not in all cases, you understand. There are so many variables to take into account. But if you look at some people apart from their animals, and some animals apart from their owners, one can make some pretty safe predictions about the behaviours concerned…”
Humphries immediately seized upon the opening offered by this remark. Here was an opportunity to make this so-called experimental psychologist look the complete idiot he took him to be.
“Safe predictions? I’ll bet you cannot make even one. I reckon there are a number of dog owners around this table – apart from guesswork, you try and tell me the sort of dogs they have. You won’t be able to!”
“Well that is something of a tall order, my friend, since I know no one here very well, except for the company I came with…I have observed no behaviour of anyone present – apart, I suppose, from yourself and Professor Collins, whom I met just now in the SCR.”
“Well we are two people to start with. Both dog owners, as it happens. Come on – give us your scientific prediction. Put your money where your mouth is…what sort of dogs do we have? £50 if you can get even near one of them. £100 for both. I’ll gladly pay that to you if you can do it, and you pay me if you cannot. How’s that?”
“Dr Humphries! That is really most unfair of you. Dr Potts here knows little of either of us…” Professor Collins was anxious to try and stop these two adversaries from locking horns.
Carol looked round at George and put an arm on his shoulder as if to restrain him. “George, be careful…you don’t have to do this,” she whispered. At the same time she was beginning to see where this was going. George only looked back and winked.
“I’ll take on his bet. Please do not concern yourself, Geoffrey.” George affected the familiar address to the ex-Master of St Bart’s. He figured he was a friend now and wanted to show him he felt that. “I’ll take up this challenge since I’ve been so bold as to say that my science will stand up to scrutiny…and so – my money is on the table.” George fished out his wallet and placed it unopened in front of him. He knew well enough that he only had around £20 in it, but the gesture was convincing. Everyone’s eyes were upon him.
Elizabeth Collins began openly protesting – she was asserting that this was not a fair contest and urged her husband to stop this. That was an interesting reaction. George took note.
Jordan Humphries was meanwhile sitting opposite with a gleam in his eye and his ruddy face smiling broadly. George had an idea that he was being set up…but he wasn’t going to fall for it. Like a poker player with a full hand, he also had something he could call upon that he reckoned would beat his opponent.
“Dr Humphries,” George began, “unlike the natural sciences like with your study of rocks, the study of humankind deals with very much more unpredictable data. Nonetheless I insist that some really quite remarkable correlations do indeed hold. Looking at how some people behave you can begin to read them, as they say, like a book. But in the case of your own challenge to gauge the nature of Professor Collins dog therefore, I’ll say this: I think you are trying to trick me…”
George watched the man’s reaction. Was there a perceptible change in expression? George was not a man who had ever played poker before so his powers of observation and of interpreting an opponent’s deadpan face were nowhere near as good as he was claiming. He was now a long way out on a limb in this contest and there was no route back. He plunged on.
“My money is on the table, sir, and, based partly on your own behaviour, my guess is that Professor Collins does not have a dog. No dog at all. But I bet that he did have one once, however, and that it was a dearly-loved animal. And what type of dog? I’ll bet that it was no pedigree hound, but a simple, everyday, ordinary mongrel of a dog that loved its owners as surely as its owners loved it. And now? I’d say that Professor Collins and his wife, kind folk and dog-less that they are, will on occasions shower their affection for the canine species on just about every stray and adventurous hound that that they encounter in their retirement. How’s that? That is my prediction, sir, based on what I have seen of your own reactions and the little I have observed of the character of this most distinguished couple tonight!”
Elizabeth Collins gave a shout. Not quite loud enough to cross the dining hall because the meal was well underway and the students, with wine now loosening their tongues, were making the very devil of a racket. But everyone on High Table heard her and she added to her cry by gleefully clapping her hands. Professor Geoffrey Collins was at the same time grinning from ear to ear and he finally gave voice to his feelings.
“By God, sir! That is the best, most deserving £50 I’ve ever seen earned in all my life. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’ll match that £50 of yours Jordon, with a note of the same value myself. Tremendous! Your prediction was absolutely correct in every detail. In every detail, George, old fellow. You are a marvel! An absolute marvel.”
Carol simply beamed at George. She put her hand across and squeezed his thigh again. She didn’t know how he had done it. He must have known something – she realised he was too artful a character to have gone into that completely cold – but she reckoned there was nonetheless a fair bit of guesswork involved as well.
Duncan thumped the table and then raised his glass again. “Hats off to the psychologist! Hurrah! One in the eye for the geophysie…the geophysys…the man with the red face! Aye, sir. That got you, didn’t it!” Duncan was clearly getting well-oiled and enjoying this evening a little more at every passing minute. “C’mon, George! Now give us the other dog! The one this pseud says he owns…”
A buzz of excited conversation swept around the table and came to rest finally with the two men at the heart of the contest looking keenly at each other. One was red-faced, sour-faced and clearly rattled. The rather underhand ruse he had tried to pull – picking out a dog owner who had no dog – had not worked. He didn’t know how his opponent had rumbled it but he was now hoping that this man would not do it again. The other, of course, was by far the more composed of the two and gave off an air of quiet confidence. Carol was now grinning inside. This time she knew that George could not lose.
“Well, ladies, gentlemen, like I say, there are correlations that can be made with dogs and owners. Some correlations are not always that close – such is the nature of the variables one finds. Sometimes, to be honest, there has to be a fair degree of guesstimate involved – like in the case of the Collins’ dog, I have to confess. I own that I was lucky to get every detail right on that one. But in this next case of the geophysicist sitting in front of me, his character, the evidence of the man, is so strong that I feel there is no need for guesswork at all…just a matter of extrapolating what I see in front of me. Dr Humphries – I bet you do not have one dog. I’ll bet you have at least two. And I’ll bet they are two pedigree hounds, really showy, prize possessions – prize pets fit to grace the living room of your undoubtedly showy home and the undoubtedly grand, gas-guzzling motor, probably a four-by-four, which you own…”
The face of George’s rival across the table was now a complete picture. Red and fizzing. Someone shouted: “Well done! You’ve got the motor! Now – what breed for the dogs? What are they like?”
George continued. “The two dogs I have deduced he possesses will be docile, thoroughly tamed. The dog castrated; the bitch spayed. They will be extremely well-behaved and will pose no competition for their owner. What breed? Does it matter? Pedigree, of course; dogs that have to look good. What do you reckon? Dalmatians? Pointers? Great Danes?” There was a rising murmur of noise about the table. “Hmmm, two dogs I said. Yes, I can hear you saying it already. Dalmatians! How’s that?”
Dr Jordan Humphries jumped up, incensed. “I don’t believe any of this! These are party tricks. This is not science! You’ve cheated! Your woman here has put y
ou up to it! She’s given you inside information!”
“Why, you…you…common scumbag!” Carol couldn’t control her language, she was so shocked. “You insult me just because you can’t stand losing…”
Humphries was still standing, leaning over the table with his colour and his temper rising. “This is some sort of scam you people pull. It’s all a stunt…you cheats…”
He got no further. With a “Hey, Jordie, catch this!” Duncan leaped to his feet and swung a fist across into the other’s face. Dr Jordan Humphries was catapulted back into his chair which promptly tipped over under the impact and deposited the limp, semi-conscious body onto the floor behind the table.
Chapter 14
Conversation around High Table ceased immediately. Knives and forks were frozen in movement. Mouths stopped in mid-chew. The great majority of the students in the body of the dining hall had not noticed the swift, aerial departure of Dr Jordan Humphries from both consciousness and his four-course meal but the members of the SCR seated all round and about him had certainly seen, and heard, his explosive send-off. George thought he’d better switch attention away from his Scottish friend and ally who was just resuming his seat whilst wiping a trace of geophysical blood from his fist.
“Oh dear! Now there’s an interesting case in migration to study, Geoffrey.” George looked across at the retired Professor Collins. “The sudden flight of the species scumbag…”
Stunned at first like all the others, Professor Geoffrey Collins nodded with a faint, barely perceptible smile, looking down beside him at the figure sprawled on the floor which was now uttering a low groan. At the scumbag reference, meanwhile, Carol was profuse with apologies.
“I…I’m so sorry for using that language. Really…but he was outrageous, accusing me of cheating…of being involved in some deceit to trick him out of his money…Please forgive me!” Carol looked pleadingly at the Master, Dr Adams, begging his pardon.
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