“The chairman has the floor,” said Arthur. “And he intends to run this committee with order and decorum, so there can be no interruptions.”
Slopes stared wide-eyed at this and was apparently so shocked by Arthur’s assertion of authority that he found himself unable to defend poor Radclyffe.
“First of all,” said Arthur, “I would like to thank Miss Stanhope for joining us on such short notice. Mr. Slopes informed me this morning that the university has adopted the policy, idiotic though it is, of placing students who spend only a short time in our midst on committees that decide our distant future. I was pleased, Miss Stanhope, that you were able to accept my last-minute invitation. Inappropriate though your presence may be, we welcome you.”
No one tried to interrupt him this time, not even Miss Stanhope, and Arthur thought his little speech was going rather well.
“Now,” he said, “it has recently come to my attention that the main reasons students come to the media center are threefold: it has a nice coffee shop, it has comfortable chairs, and it has speedy Internet connections. Now, to be sure, these are laudable achievements, but I feel we are missing an opportunity to have our charges interact with knowledge in a more meaningful way. There are, if you look hard enough for them, books in this building, though our students could be forgiven for not knowing that. A student crossing our threshold encounters no evidence that knowledge has ever been bound in covers, but only a blank wall. Passing by this empty expanse, our student might spend hours in the media center without ever encountering such a thing as a book—for to see one of that breed requires the determination to go past upholstery and caffeine and into that long-forgotten area known as the stacks. Now, I believe that those neglected books represent the heart and soul of this institution, and I put it to you that, as things stand, our beloved media center is rather deep in the anti-intellectual mulligatawny. We are the metaphorical ship without a rudder; we are Hansel and Gretel sans bread crumbs; in short, we are without direction and we require both rudder and bag of crumbs, and I fancy I know just where we can get both of those and a packet of crisps.”
“And where is that?” said Slopes, who had apparently recovered himself enough to insert this short query into the proceedings.
“Ah, I am glad you asked that, Mr. Slopes. The question that prods me on with my oration is precisely the sort of contribution I expect from you on this committee, and you have done your job well. What this committee needs, what this media center needs, is a good dose of Jeeves.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Peabody, a mathematics lecturer who hunched at the far end of the table taking the minutes. “How do you spell that?”
“Is it possible,” said Arthur, raising both his shoulders and his voice, “that we are working in a university where lecturers are not aware of the identity of one Reginald Jeeves, the gentleman’s personal gentleman and the personal gentleman’s gentleman? What has happened to cultural literacy, my fellow members of the Advisory Committee for the Media Center? This sort of ignorance is exactly what needs addressing. What I mean, Mr. Peabody, when I say that we need a dose of Jeeves, is that we need quiet and reasoned wisdom that leads to prompt and directed action.”
“And do I gather that you are to be the source of this wisdom?” asked Mr. Slopes.
“Well done, again, Mr. Slopes,” said Arthur. “You have sussed out the essence of this meeting. Keep this up and we may make you chairman one day. Now, I should like to put before this committee four proposals for immediate approval. First, that, in order to impress upon our community the importance of the books that are cared for on its premises, the name of the building in which we now meet be changed from the “Media Center” to the “Library.” I would suggest the Francis Slopes Memorial Library, but Mr. Slopes’s mortal coil is as yet unshuffled, so for now the word Library will suffice solo. Second, is the matter of that empty wall that greets our eager students when they enter this sacred space. Certainly the symbolism is clear—like the minds of those who approach it, the wall is a perfect and absolute blank. But symbolism, in my opinion, is overrated. So I propose we cover that wall with bookcases and that we fill those bookcases with books—actual printed-on-paper and bound-in-covers books of the type that were once so popular on university campuses. These books should be drawn from every field, and I would suggest that we appoint Mr. Peabody to choose those mathematical treatises that will grace this wall of knowledge. In the center of that wall, I propose we erect a glass display case to be filled with the sorts of books that may open new avenues of thought to our constituents—a display of rare materials loaned from local collectors, perhaps even from the cathedral library, which, like our own media center, is a much underused resource. Third, that we invite the American expert on digital media, Miss Bethany Davis, to serve this committee in an advisory capacity. While I believe that the primary purpose of a library should be to house and disseminate books, I am prepared to concede to other members of this committee the point that digital media has its place, and I believe this committee, and in particular its chair, could benefit from Miss Davis’s counsel. And finally, that the library provide, posthaste, a copy of The Code of the Woosters to Mr. Peabody for his personal edification. Now, I have a bus to catch, so I suggest that we dispense with discussion and proceed directly to a vote.”
“But,” said Mr. Slopes.
“Ah, you have not quite mastered it, Mr. Slopes,” said Arthur. “That was not the time for an interruption. All in favor of my proposals?” Arthur was quite pleased, if a little surprised, to see five hands rise. “Now, five of you plus me makes six out of eight, so that’s a majority. Motions are approved and this meeting of the Advisory Committee for the Library stands adjourned.” Before Slopes or anyone else whose hand was not raised could react, Arthur swept up his bag and marched out of the room, breaking into a run as soon as he was in the hall. He felt jubilant.
He had no idea if Bethany would agree to consult with him on university matters, or if what she would say would be of any use, but he had seen the looks on the faces of the committee members when he had proposed input from a digital media expert—they thought that Arthur was not stuck in the Dark Ages and they thought he knew what he was talking about. And as a result he had, in the course of a ten-minute meeting, done some real good for the university. And for Mr. Peabody.
IX
THE LIBRARY