Travel Scholarships. Jules Verne
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with each other in order to obtain the travel scholarships. After receiving the results, when they learned that the laureates were going to visit the West Indies, Mr. Ardagh was sure it would be like a dream come true for them.
In the meantime, Mr. Ardagh considered the choice he had to make concerning the leader who would be at the head of this traveling class, the mentor whose advice would maintain harmony among these budding Telemachuses.4 The question was not without some complexity. Would he ask the one professor at the Antillean School who seemed to fulfill all the conditions required in this case? But this academic year had not yet ended. Impossible to interrupt classes before vacation. The teaching staff needed to remain intact.
It was for this very reason that Mr. Ardagh did not think he could accompany the nine scholarship-recipients himself. His presence was needed during the last school months and it was important that he attend in person the distribution of diplomas on August 7.
So, apart from the professors and himself, did he have among his staff precisely the perfect person, a serious and reputedly methodical man who would fulfill his duties conscientiously, who deserved all his trust, who was generally liked, and whom the young travelers would gladly accept as mentor?
The question remained to know whether this person would consent to make this trip, if he would be agreeable to venturing to the other side of the sea.
On the morning of June 24, five days before the date set for the departure of the Alert, Mr. Ardagh sent for Mr. Patterson to come to his office for an important discussion.
Mr. Patterson, the Antillean School’s bookkeeper, was busy verifying his accounts from the night before, as was his invariable habit, when Mr. Ardagh summoned him.
Mr. Patterson, lifting his glasses up to his forehead, answered the servant who was standing at the door, saying:
“I will go to the director’s office without wasting a single moment.” And, putting his glasses back in place, Mr. Patterson picked up his pen once more to finish the leg of a “9” that he was writing at the bottom of the expenses column of a large book. Then, with his ebony ruler, he drew a line under the column with numbers whose addition he had just completed. Then, after having lightly shaken his pen over the ink well, he dipped it several times in the lead jar that kept it clean, dried it extremely carefully, placed it near the ruler on his desk, turned the inkwell’s pump to put the ink back in, placed the sheet of carbon paper on the expenses page, taking special care not to alter the leg of the nine, closed the register, placed it inside its special case inside the desk, put back in their box the eraser, the pencil, and the rubber band, blew on his blotting paper to chase away some dust, stood up while pushing back his armchair with the leather seat, took off his oversleeves and hung them on a peg near the fireplace, gave a quick brush to his frock coat, his vest, and his pants, grabbed his hat, which he shone with his elbow, secured it on his head, put on his black leather gloves as if he were making an official visit to an important person at the University, looked one last time in the mirror, verified that everything was irreproachable in his appearance, took the scissors and cut a strand of his sideburns that went over the allowed line, checked that his handkerchief and his wallet were in his pocket, opened his office door, passed over the threshold and closed it carefully with one of the seventeen keys that rattled on his key chain, went down the stairs that lead to the main courtyard, crossed it diagonally with a slow and steady step to arrive at the building that housed Mr. Ardagh’s office, stopped in front of the door, pressed the electric button that made a warbling ring inside, and waited.5
It was only at that moment that Mr. Patterson asked himself, scratching his forehead with his index finger:
“What could the Director have to say to me?”
Indeed, at this hour of the morning, the invitation to come to Mr. Ardagh’s office probably seemed unusual to Mr. Patterson, whose mind filled up with diverse hypotheses.
You be the judge. Mr. Patterson’s watch was only showing nine forty-seven, and one could trust this precision instrument which did not vary for even a second per day, and whose regularity equaled that of its owner. Never, no, never! Mr. Patterson never came to see Mr. Ardagh before eleven forty-three to give him his daily report on the financial status of the Antillean School, although it was not unprecedented that he arrive between the forty-second and forty-third minute.
Mr. Patterson had to guess, and he imagined that an entirely special circumstance was taking place, since the director was asking for him before he had balanced the expenses and receipts from the day before. He would finish that balance when he got back, in fact, and one can be certain that no error would occur because of this unusual disturbance.6
The door opened by pulling on a cord attached to the concierge’s lodgings.
Mr. Patterson took a few steps—five, as was his custom—into the hall, and he knocked discreetly on the sign of a second door that read Director’s office.
“Enter,” was the quick response.
Mr. Patterson took off his hat, brushed off the specks of dust on his boots, readjusted his gloves and came into an office well lit by two windows with blinds halfway closed, and a view of the main courtyard.
Mr. Ardagh, looking at several papers, was sitting behind his desk, which was equipped with several electric buttons. Looking up, he gave Mr. Patterson a friendly sign. “You called for me to come to your office, Mr. Director?” said Mr. Patterson.
“Yes, Mr. Patterson,”7 answered Mr. Ardagh, “and to talk to you about a situation that concerns you personally.”
Then, pointing to a chair placed near the desk:
“Please, take a seat,” he added.
Mr. Patterson sat down, after carefully lifting the tails of his long coat, one hand resting on his knee, the other holding his hat against his chest.
Mr. Ardagh began to speak:
“You are aware, Mr. Patterson,” he said, “of the results of the competition open to our boarders to obtain certain travel scholarships.”
“I am familiar with it, Mr. Director,” answered Mr. Patterson, “and my thought is that this generous initiative from one of our colonial compatriots is an honor for the Antillean School.”
Mr. Patterson spoke deliberately, making each syllable of the words he chose to use count, and stressing them not without a hint of preciosity when they escaped his lips.
“You are also aware,” continued Mr. Ardagh, “of the use that must be made of those scholarships.”
“I am not unaware of it, Mr. Director,” answered Mr. Patterson, who, bowing, seemed to greet with his hat someone on the other side of the ocean. “Mrs. Seymour is a lady whose name will long echo in posterity. It would be very difficult to make better use of the riches that her birthright and her work have afforded her than to benefit these youths who are eager to travel.”
“That is what I think also, Mr. Patterson. But let us get to the point. You are equally aware of the conditions under which this trip to the Antilles must be made?”
“I have been so informed, Mr. Director. A ship will await our young travelers, and I hope for their sake that they will not have to beg Neptune to cast his famous Quos ego8 onto the wrathful waves of the Atlantic!”
“I hope so, too, Mr. Patterson, since the crossing both going and coming will take place during the dry season.”
“Indeed,” answered the accountant. “For the capricious Tethys,9 July and August are her favorite months to rest.”
“Also,” added Mr. Ardagh, “this voyage will not be any less pleasurable for my laureates than for the person who will accompany them during the voyage.”
“A person,” said Mr. Patterson, “who will have the most joyous task of presenting to Mrs. Seymour the respectful praises and warm gratitude of the boarders at the Antillean School.”
“I regret,” continued