96
PARTISAN REVIEW
Academic time moves quickly. A college year is not really a year,
lacking as it does three months. And it is endlessly divided into uni!J
which, at their beginning, appear larger than they are-terms, hall·
terms, months, weeks. And the ultimate unit, the hour, is not really
an
hour, lacking as it does ten minutes. And so the new term advanced
rapidly and one day the fields about the town were all brown, cleared of
even the few thin patches of snow which had lingered so long.
Howe, as he lectured on the romantic poets, became conscious of
Blackburn emanating wrath. Blackburn did it well, did it with enormous
dignity. He did not stir in his seat, he kept his eyes fixed on Howe
in
perfect attention, but he abstained from using his notebook, there
was
no mistaking what he proposed to himself as an attitude.· His elbow on
the writing·wing of the chair, his chi,n on the curled fingers of his hand,
he was the embodiment of intellectual indignation. He was thinking
his
own thoughts, would give no public offence, yet would claim his due,
was not to be intimidated. Howe knew that he would present himself
at
the end of the hour.
Blackburn entered the office without invitation. He did not smile,
there was no cajolery about him. Without invitation he sat down beside
Howe's desk. He did not speak until he had taken the blue·book from
his pocket. He said, "What does this mean, sir?"
It was a sound and conservative student tactic. Said in the usual
way it meant, "How could you have so misunderstood me?" or
"What
does this mean for my future in the course?" But there were none of
the humbler tones in Blackburn's way of saying it.
H'owe made the established reply, "I think that's for you to tell me."
Blackburn continued icy. "I'm sure I can't, sir."
There was a silence between them. ·Both dropped their eyes to
the
blue-book on the desk. On its cover Howe had pencilled: "F. This
is
very poor work."
Howe picked up the blue-book. There was always the possibility of
injustice. The teacher may be bored by the mass of papers and not
wholly attentive. A phrase, even the student's handwriting, may irritate
him unreasonably. "Well," said Howe, "let's go through it."
He opened the first page. "Now here: you write, 'In "The Ancient
Mariner," Coleridge lives in and transports us to a honey-sweet world
where all is rich and strange, a world of charm to which we can escape
from the humdrum existence of our daily lives, the world of romance.
Here, in this warm and honey-sweet land of charming dreams we can
relax and enjoy ourselves.'"
Howe lowered the paper and waited with a neutral look for Bla<i·
burn to speak. Blackburn returned the look boldly, did not speak,
sat
stolid and lofty. At last Howe said, speaking gently, "Did you mean
tha~
or were you just at a loss for something to say?"
"You imply that I was just 'bluffing'?" The quotation marks
hun~
palpable in the air about the word.
