Dean Spanley Page #5

I am stricken to think I have given you cause

to think me ungrateful.

Don't grovel, laddie. You remind me

of Wag when he'd been naughty.

What a whining and squirming

he went in for!

Yes. Wag, eh?

One of the seven great dogs.

At any one time, you know,

there are only seven.

- What kind of dog was he?

- A Welsh spaniel, in his prime.

What happened to him?

He went away one day

and never came back.

- Had he ever done that before?

- Never.

I blame the bad company he fell in with.

This dog that used to come around.

Ugly brute, a mongrel.

Big scrawny thing, it was.

Wag chased him off at first

but he came back

and Wag took off with him

just before I had to return to school.

I wanted to stay at home till Wag came back,

but they wouldn't allow it.

I told them if I wasn't there,

then Wag might not know where to come to.

Must have been very difficult for you.

It wasn't difficult.

It was unbearable.

I had heard this story before.

But now it was as if

I was hearing it for the first time.

As dubious as any connection

might have seemed,

my father's revelation

inspired greater significance

to my next encounter with the dean.

Who's this likely-looking lad?

That's my brother Harrington.

He was killed fighting the Boers.

Broke my mother's heart.

And your father, how did he take it?

"If something goes to the trouble

of happening,

it may be considered inevitable"

was his comment, I believe.

That's your stiff upper English for you.

There's a few shillings left in this.

The cobwebs are worth a guinea.

No, please. Not the last inch.

The dean is most particular about that.

Fussy old hound.

What kind of dog did he say he was?

He didn't. I must insist

you don't ask him such a question.

I'd have thought

that's the first question you would ask.

Please just give me your word.

As you like, but there's no doubt I'll know

as soon as he gets started.

Henslowe.

- Good evening, Dean. How are you?

- Very well.

I fancy I would have been

a pointer, an Afghan...

- This is my friend Mr Wrather.

- Oh.

Mr Wrather is the agent

by which we manage to procure the Tokay.

- Mm.

- Good evening... Dean.

Yes.

Tonight's vintage is... a special one.

Kleinfeld-Hasslerbeck '82.

One of the great years.

Indeed, I've not had the good fortune

to taste that particular vintage before.

Well, every dog has his day,

as they say.

Well, what a privilege.

Dean.

Of course

the Empire must be maintained,

but history shows us only too clearly

the dangers of overreach.

I myself considered the Indian Mutiny,

so-called,

a warning that perhaps

our presence on the subcontinent

was not the universal benevolence

that we believed.

- A glass of Tokay, Dean?

- That would be most agreeable.

So, Dean, do you think it's true that

you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

- What Mr Wrather means is...

- Will we ever give India back to the Indians?

Not in my lifetime, I would venture.

We've become too dependent on it.

And I don't just mean economically,

although we derive inordinate treasure

from its exploitation.

No, we have become habituated

to the role of master...

and dog...

servant.

How elegant.

- My, my, my, my, my, my.

- Is it all you'd hoped for, Dean?

Oh.

Beyond hope, beyond imagining.

The actuality exceeds anticipation.

I am in your debt, sir.

And yours, Mr Wrather.

You were saying about...

our relationship with the Indians,

between the master and the servant?

Not just servant, but loving servant.

It's most important to the English race

that we are loved by those that we rule.

With a dog-like devotion, would you say?

What is it that's so important

about the master?

Yes, the Master.

The thing is, whenever he returned

from wherever he'd been,

no matter how long I'd been waiting,

the actuality

always exceeded the anticipation.

Causing you to run about in circles.

But, you know, for all his great wisdom,

there were certain things

the Master never understood.

- Such as?

- The moon... and ticks.

The Master always wanted to remove mine,

but my own motto was: Live and let live.

I hate ticks.

And the moon?

Yes, the moon.

The Master wasn't nearly

suspicious enough of the moon.

I never trusted it.

Never the same two nights in a row.

Couldn't hear it. Couldn't smell it.

Well, you can take your own line

on that, and others do.

I had a friend who never worried

about the moon, but then...

he didn't have a house to guard.

The moon had a way of looking at a house

that implied it wasn't guarded properly.

Well, my house was guarded properly,

thank you very much, and I told it so,

every time it came around,

in no uncertain terms!

- Were you very big?

- Oh, yes.

How big?

When I barked... I was enormous.

So... why do you think

it wasn't frightened?

Well, frightened things

smell frightened.

I've smelled many frightened things.

Cats, elderly ladies, children, rabbits.

They all smell of being frightened.

It's a wonderful smell.

You mean... old ladies smell the same

as rabbits when they're frightened?

No, their fear smells the same.

Otherwise there's no confusing them.

Yes, this, erm... this business of smell

is very interesting, isn't it?

Interesting.

If there's one thing

I could find fault with the Master,

it would be on that issue.

I have known occasions when I was studying

a message left for me by a friend

and he would drag me away by the collar

in the middle of the most fascinating passage.

Rather like dragging a scholar

away from a text at the British Museum.

That is a rather untoward analogy.

No, most apposite.

I believe I have thought

exactly the same thing.

What sort of a dog were you, anyway?

I beg your pardon?

I mean in your day.

You know, before you took...

holy orders.

I recall no such activity, sir.

Quite a session. Damn good value.

Listen, I've been thinking.

This is getting out of hand.

The man is clearly

suffering from delusions.

And as for the Tokay...

I sincerely hope

I never develop a taste for it.

It's hard to find

and devilishly expensive.

Ten guineas to hear a dean say

he believed he was once a dog!

I must be mad.

- Good as gold.

- Shh.

I don't want your money.

This has gone too far.

- But you can't stop now, young Fisk.

- Well, I see no point in continuing.

The man believes what he believes.

That's that.

You're not one of these blokes

who gives up before he can lose, are you?

Are you?

What if I was to procure

a bottle of the elixir for free?

For free?

This bloke owes me. He owes me more

than one favour too, I'll tell you that.

And if anyone's got a bottle or two,

His Nawabship will.

Tokay, you say? An Imperial?

- We're finding it hard to come by.

- I should jolly well think so.

Rather extravagant

being so keen on it, I'd say.

- You must be quite the connoisseur.

- It's not for him.

It's for Dean Spanley.

For Spanley?

Old Wag Spanley likes Tokay?

Very partial to a drop,

the dean.

Excuse me. Did you just

call Dean Spanley Wag?

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