JORDAN'S FATHERLY CARE 



stern determination that, whoever else in that 

 august assemblage perished of hunger, it should 

 not be the Mayor of Bath. To this end, no 

 bearer of either meat or drink was permitted to 

 pass until he had yielded up to Jordan, for my 

 benefit, whatever dish or bottle he was possessed of. 

 And as this was in pre-war days, they were many 

 in number. 



Seated next to me was the velvet-sleeved 

 Senior Proctor, a University official, second only 

 in rank to the Vice-Chancellor himself. Notwith- 

 standing, he was supposed to be the stern embodi- 

 ment of order and discipline, the bete noire of 

 backsliding undergrads, he was so agreeable and 

 interesting a conversationalist that I esteemed 

 myself fortunate in being his neighbour. I could 

 see, however, that he suffered from one disability 

 he was not Mayor of Bath, which handicapped him 

 in the matter of rationing. Happily, I was well 

 able to rectify this by requesting Jordan to place 

 him on the same footing as myself, and take the 

 same fatherly care of him as he did of me, and 

 after that we both equally shared in the good 

 things going. These and grace having been 

 disposed of, there was a pause as we waited in 

 expectation of the rising of our host to open the 

 oratorical part of the programme. Instead of 

 which, there came from immediately behind my 

 chair that familiar, full-toned voice, which at 

 once transported me in imagination back to my 

 adopted city, and we were in a moment all brought 

 to attention by the following utterance, delivered 

 with that arresting force which compels attention : 

 " My lords and gentlemen, will you all please face 



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