dick went down from canteloup in a blaze of glory. the most brilliant man of his generation, exceptional mind, prospects, career. but his head was not turned. when people congratulated him on his academic successes, he thanked them politely and then invited them to come and see his memento mori. his memento mori was called mr. glottenham and could be found at any hour of the day in the premises of the union, or if it was evening, in the senior common room at canteloup. he was an old member of the college, and the dons in pity for his age and loneliness had made him, some years before, a member of their common room. this act of charity was as bitterly regretted as any generous impulse in the history of the world. mr. glottenham made the life of the canteloup fellows a burden to them; he dined in hall with fiendish regularity, never missing a night, and he was always the last to leave the common room. mr. glottenham did not prepossess at a first glance; [pg 41]the furrows of his face were covered with a short grey sordid stubble; his clothes were disgusting with the spilth of many years of dirty feeding; he had the shoulders and long hanging arms of an ape—an ape with a horribly human look about it. when he spoke, it was like the sound of a man breaking coke; he spoke incessantly and on every subject. his knowledge was enormous; but he possessed the secret of a strange inverted alchemy—he knew how to turn the richest gold to lead, could make the most interesting topic so intolerably tedious that it was impossible, when he talked, not to loathe it.
this was the death’s-head to which dick, like an ancient philosopher at a banquet, would direct the attention of his heartiest congratulators. mr. glottenham had had the most dazzling academic career of his generation. his tutors had prophesied for him a future far more brilliant than that of any of his contemporaries. they were now ministers of state, poets, philosophers, judges, millionaires. mr. glottenham frequented the union and the canteloup [pg 42]senior common room, and was—well, he was just mr. glottenham. which was why dick did not think too highly of his own laurels.
