"Dickson, Gordon - Dragon And The George Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

Jim pulled the Gorp out of the college grounds onto West Street and turned down on the ramp leading to Highway Five.

"He only tried. You were the one who hypnotized me, if you'll remember-after Grottwold taught you how."

"Anyway, you're not to let anyone hypnotize you again. Me or Hansen, or anybody."

"Of course," said Angie, softly.

There she went, doing it again-just what he had been thinking about, Jim told himself. Now he was the one she'd just handled. All of a sudden there was no more argument and he was wondering what he had gotten excited about in the first place. He was also feeling half guilty for making a fuss over something that probably had not been that important to begin with.

"Anyway," he said, heading out along Highway Five toward the trailer court Danny Cerdak had told him about, "if this trailer for rent turns out to be the deal Danny said it was, we can get married and maybe, living together, we can get by cheaply enough so you won't have to work for Grottwold as well as holding down your assistantship in English."

"Jim," said Angie, "you know better."

"We could."

"We could not. The only reason the co-op can get by charging us a hundred twenty apiece per month for food and board is that it makes slop food in quantity and beds us all down in double-decker bunks in dor- mitories. Any place we find for ourselves is going to put our living costs up, not down. I can't manage meals for us as cheaply as the co-op can. No, I can't quit my work with Grottwold. But at least having a place of our own will make it seem worth while to go on. We've got to have a place of our own-but let's not fool ourselves about the expense."

"We could sort of camp out in the new place, the first few months."

"How could we? To cook and eat, we've got to have utensils, and a table to eat on. We need another table so we can each have one to correct tests on and so forth for our jobs at the college. And chairs. We need at least a mattress to sleep on, and something like a dresser for the clothes that can't be hung up-"

"All right. I'll get an extra job, then."

"No, you won't. I had to stop work on my thesis. You're going to stick with writing papers for the aca- demic journals until you publish something. Then see Shorles keep you out of that instructorship!"

"Oh, hell," said Jim. "I'll probably never get any- thing published anyway."

"You better not mean that!" For once Angie sounded almost angry.

"Well, actually, no," Jim said, a little shame- facedly. "Actually, this last paper was going pretty well this morning before I headed off for class."

Professor Thibault Shorles, head of the History De- partment, liked his assistants to sit in on. all of his classes, in addition to doing the usual work of correct- ing tests, reserving reference books for the students in the course, and so forth. It was a neat little whim that added eight hours a week to the time Jim other- wise required to put in to earn his hundred and seventy-five dollars a month.

"How was he?" Angie asked. "Did you ask him about the instructorship again?"

"He wasn't in the mood."

"He wasn't? Or you weren't?"

Jim winced internally. Shorles had interviewed Jim at the History Association meeting last year in Chi- cago; and as good as promised him a recently created instructorship just added to the history department Shorles headed at Riveroak. With this prospect, An- gie had tried for, and to the happiness of both of them, got, a teaching assistantship in the English Depart- ment. She was still working for her doctorate in Eng- lish literature, Jim having been three years ahead of her at Michigan State, where they met as graduate students. With both of them set for jobs at the same academic institution, it had looked as if they had the future taped. But then when they had gotten here, Shorles broke the news that because of last-minute budget problems, Jim could not be given his instructor- ship until the spring quarter at the earliest. Meanwhile, Shorles had a teaching assistantship open...

It had taken Jim less than a month to find out the real nature of the "budget problem." Like academic departments in many colleges and universities, the staff teaching history at Riveroak College was riddled with internal politics. Two established factions in the department opposed each other on almost every point. Shorles, independent of both, had gotten by for years by playing them against each other. But an additional instructor added at this time could cause a reshuffling of allegiances and a resultant upset in the neat balance of power. On the other hand, Professor Theodore N. Jellamine, the outspoken, motorcycle-riding vice- chairman of the department, was thinking of retiring this coming spring. His leaving would mean promo- tions for those under him; and by controlling these, Shorles could then absorb a new instructor into a fresh balance of power hand-tailored by himself.

"I'm sorry, Angie," said Jim, contritely. "I had to sit through that class for a hour with nothing to do but look interested and think of what he's done to us; and by the time the bell rang, I didn't dare talk to him for fear I'd put one in his teeth when he turned me down again."

There was a moment's stark silence in the car as they drove along; then Jim, staring straight ahead out  the windshield, felt his arm squeezed gently.

"That's all right," Angie told him. "If you felt like that, you did the right thing. You'll catch him some- time when you're able to talk calmly about it."