Robert J. Conley - The Meade solution

Copyright 1998 by Robert J. Conley

Published by the University Press of Colorado
P.O. Box 849
Niwot, Colorado 80544

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

The University Press of Colorado is a cooperative publishing enterprise supported, in part, by Adams State College, Colorado State University, Fort Lewis College, Mesa State College, Metropolitan State College of Denver, University of Colorado, University of Northern Colorado, University of Southern Colorado, and Western State College of Colorado.

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences - Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. ANSI Z39.48-1984

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Conley, Robert J.

The Meade solution / Robert J. Conley.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-87081-479-6 (alk. paper)

I. Title.

PS3553.0494M43 1998

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

When Professor Ledyard Kennard left the English Department faculty lounge, he walked to the end of the hallway and took the stairs up to the third floor. At the top of the stairs was a door. It opened into Professor Kennard's office, a medium-sized office with the desk placed squarely in the center because the walls were entirely occupied by floortoceiling bookcases packed with books.

After closing the door behind him, Professor Kennard walked to his desk and placed his coffee cup precariously on the edge of the cluttered desktop. Then he pulled out his worn and creaky swivel chair and sat down, his back to the door. He rolled the chair backward slightly, then spun it a quarter turn to his right and looked up at the top shelf of the bookcase that towered before him, just in time to see it begin to topple. His eyes opened wide. His lips parted as if he would scream. Then he disappeared under thousands of books as the huge, dusty old case came crashing down upon him.

> > > > >

In a large classroom, Professor Andrew Langworthy was pacing nervously back and forth in front of the seven graduate students enrolled in his course on the English Romantic poets. It was a hot summer day, but air-conditioning was reserved for administrative offices in Stratford Hall at Stanhope University.

Abington Packwood, who weighed in the neighborhood of 300 pounds, and who had pulled together for his own use a righthand and a lefthand desk, both of which he was sitting on, was suffering more from the heat than anyone else. But Wahoo Meade, who was seated next to Abington in the front row, was suffering from Abington's body odor.

Floyd Rudd was drumming on his desk with his huge fingers, and Elvira Emerson was filing her nails. Boston Bennet sat in the back of the room and glared. Lucas Thayer sat next to the wall so he could lean his head casually against it. He was asleep. Danbury Smith, seated by an open window, was staring outside and daydreaming.

"And now, boys and girls," Langworthy intoned.

Floyd Rudd's thick fingers ceased their drumming and gripped the desktop. Floyd ground his teeth so hard that Meade heard the noise. Floyd's bearlike jaw worked menacingly from side to side, but finally he took a deep breath and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

"To conclude our day's discussion," Langworthy went on, "I should simply like to say to you that time has dealt harshly with poor Bob Southey. Few scholars have seen fit to look beyond the caustic remarks of Lord Byron and give Southey's lovely lyrics even a friendly perusal."

"Well, Dr. Langworthy," Boston Bennet interrupted from the back of the room, "we've sure perused them all to hell in here."

Langworthy ahemmed and smiled a benign smile.

"Yes, Mr. Bennet," he said. "We have, indeed." The smile vanished, and he raised his voice. "Well, now," he continued, ''when we meet again on Wednesday, we shall take up that delightful mathematician and latterday Jacobean lyricist George Darley. I trust you shall all have completed his Nepenthe by that time. See you then."

Langworthy turned and walked to the nearest open window on the wall opposite the hallway door. Stepping high with his long legs, he climbed out of the window, trampling the flowers that grew in the bed below. As he walked across the lawn, past the Keep Off the Grass sign, over to the sidewalk leading to the Stanhope University Center (usually referred to as the Commons), he almost ran headlong into Thurman Percival.

"Good morning, Dr. Langworthy," said Percival.

"Umm?" said Langworthy, apparently not recognizing Percival.

Back inside the classroom, Abington Packwood was struggling to get up from his two chairs without scattering his books and papers.