David Lodge - Small World by Author's Note Read Free Book Online Page A

something?”
    “It’s quite all right, we’ve finished,” said Angelica. “Thank you very much, Professor Zapp, you’ve been most helpful.”
    “Any time, Al.”
    “Actually, you know, my name is Angelica,” she smiled.
    “Well, I thought Al must be short for something,” said Morris Zapp. “Let me know if I can give you any more help.”
    “He didn’t give you any help at all,” said Persse indignantly, as they helped themselves to tea and biscuits. “You provided the ideas and the examples.”
    “Well, his lecture provided the stimulus.”
    “You told me he cribbed it all from the other fellow, my namesake.”
    “I didn’t say he cribbed it, silly. Just that Peirce had the same idea.”
    “Why didn’t you tell Zapp that?”
    “You have to treat these professors carefully, Persse,” said Angelica, with a sly smile. “You have to flatter them a bit.”
    “Ah, Angelica!” A bright blue suit interposed itself between them. “I’d like to discuss that very interesting idea of Jakobson’s you mentioned this morning,” said Robin Dempsey. “We can’t allow McGarrigle to monopolize you for the duration of the conference.”
    “I need to see Dr Busby, anyway,” said Persse, retiring with dignity.
    He found Bob Busby in the conference office. A young man from London University, whom Persse had overheard making the remark about generals deserting their armies at the coffee break that morning, was waving a theatre ticket under Busby’s nose.
    “Are you trying to tell me that this ticket isn’t for Lear after all?” he was saying.
    “Well, unfortunately, the Rep has postponed the opening of King Lear ,” said Busby apologetically. “And extended the run of the Christmas pantomime.”
    “Pantomime? Pantomime?”
    “It’s the only production in the whole year that makes a profit, you can’t really blame them,” said Busby. “ Puss in Boots . I believe it’s very good.”
    “Jesus wept,” said the young man. “Is there any chance of getting my money back on the ticket?”
    “I’m afraid it’s too late now,” said Busby.
    “I’ll buy it,” said Persse.
    “I say, will you really?” said the young man turning round. “It costs two pounds fifty. You can have it for two quid.”
    “Thanks,” said Persse, handing over the money.
    “Don’t go telling everybody it’s Puss in Boots ,” Busby pleaded. “I’m making out it’s a sort of mystery trip.”
    “It’s a mystery to me,” said the young man, “why any of us came to this Godforsaken hole in the first place.”
    “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” said Busby. “It’s very central.”
    “Central to what?”
    Bob Busby frowned reflectively. “Well, since they opened the M50 I can get to Tintern Abbey, door to door, in ninety-five minutes.”
    “Go there often, do you?” said the young man. He fingered Persse’s pound notes speculatively. “Is there a good fish-and-chip shop near here? I’m starving. Haven’t been able to eat a thing since I arrived.”
    “There’s a Chinese takeaway at the second traffic lights on the London Road,” said Bob Busby. “I’m sorry that you’re not enjoying the food. Still, there’s always tomorrow night to look forward to.”
    “What happens tomorrow night?”
    “A medieval banquet!” said Busby, beaming with pride. “I can hardly wait,” said the young man, as he left.
    “I thought it would make a rather nice climax to the conference,” said Bob Busby to Persse. “We’re having an outside firm in to supervise the catering and provide the entertainment. There’ll be mead, and minstrels and”—he rubbed his hands together in anticipatory glee—”wenches.”
    “My word,” said Persse. “Life runs very high in Rummidge, surely. By the way, do you have a streetplan of the city? There’s an aunty of mine living here, and I ought to call on her. The address is Gittings Road.”
    “Why, that’s not far from here!” Busby exclaimed. “Walking distance.