Silas Timberman by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page B

late.”
    â€œCabot?” Ike Amsterdam asked. Silas nodded, and as he walked away, Spencer said.
    â€œI hope he doesn’t find the argument resolved.”
    â€œNot Silas Timberman,” Brady said, and Susan Allen half-cynically added, “The good man.”
    â€œIf he is,” Ike Amsterdam observed, “God help him.”
    * * *
    In some ways, the presidency of Clemington University was a far cry from the leadership of such famous eastern colleges as Harvard, Princeton or Columbia; in other ways it was not, for Clemington had a unique relationship to the whole middle area of the nation and the whole central concentration of industry and agriculture. If fewer career diplomats emerged from Clemington than from certain eastern universities, this was more than balanced by those who were later to become leaders of heavy industry, congressmen, senators, not to mention governors and mayors of western cities. A secretary of state, a governor of Illinois, and a Supreme Court justice had each in turn been president of Clemington; and it had occurred to others as well as Anthony C. Cabot that it was time this region as well as the culture and industry of the region should be honored by a higher post.
    Therefore, people who understood the curious workings of American politics felt that Anthony C. Cabot had been well advised, some years before, to accept the call that made him president. His had been an interesting if not unusual career, and one well planned and regulated. Coming from a wealthy family, he had himself been a student at Groton and Yale and had then entered the diplomatic service. Seven years of this brought him the ministry of a middle-sized, not too important South American republic, from which he resigned to run for Congress on the Republican ticket. Elected to the House, he served several terms before it was felt that the time had come for him to enter the Senate—and he survived as a senator through a good deal of the Roosevelt Administration. In Congress, he remained a diplomat, never placing his name on any important, consequential legislation, never allowing himself to be publicly grouped with the die-hard enemies of Roosevelt or with the independent Republicans who occasionally supported the administration. Without submitting any proof of the qualities, he gained a reputation for calm intelligence, judicious non-partisanship in the nation’s good, and thoughtful open-mindedness. Eight years before, he had wisely decided not to run for re-election, but to accept, under public pressure, the presidency of a great university, because, as he usually put it,
    â€œIn this arena will be fought the battle so decisive in this great world struggle—the battle for a free and upright youth who will never falter in the contest against tyranny.”
    In October of 1950 he had just passed his sixtieth birthday, and all in all, the years had dealt well with him. He had a fine, commanding figure, a great shock of white hair, and a head that inevitably called for the adjective leonine . A firm chin gave him an appearance of forcefulness, and a high, wide brow balanced the force with an indication of deep thought and sober judgment.
    All of this was public knowledge and only surface deep. There were very few men at the university who knew him well, who were his friends and intimates, and Silas was not among them; and when all was said and done, he knew as little about Cabot as most people did. The president’s aloofness had become traditional among the faculty, but Silas was slower than others to judge him on that score, sensing how often aloofness stems from a deep fear of people rather than from any basic dislike. He did know that Cabot could, on occasion, be most charming, which rather counted against the theory of fear, but Silas had never been sufficiently concerned to speculate unduly upon the matter.
    He was concerned now, if the truth be told. That morning, he had found a note in his