The covenant - James A. Michener [391]
He spoke with such force and moral imperative that Frank became curious and tried to find out by what strange route this man had come to his final week at Oriel, but none of Frank's friends knew, or even whether he was English-born or a native South African. Later, when everyone dressed in formal attireblack suit, bow tie, black shoes, cap and gown and filed into the stately Examination Schools adjoining the Bodleian Library, there was the stranger, older than any of the other examinees and older also than many of the proctors. For an entire week he scribbled furiously, never looking up, and when the ordeal ended he disappeared.
Because of this man's rude intervention, Frank had pulled himself together, accomplishing exactly what all his Saltwood predecessors had achieved at Oriel: a pass without distinction or honors of any kind. He had not been exactly educated at Oxford; he had been ordained into the fellowship of English country gentlemen, not bright enough to lead but steady enough to be good followers.
With his degree in hand, Frank hired a horse and wagon and started the long journey to Stonehenge, then south to Old Sarum, and finally into the stately cathedral town where his ancestral home stood quietly beside the river. For generations the South African Saltwoods would bring their diplomas home in this way, for until they were registered before admiring family at Sentinels, with John Constable's fine watercolor of the cathedral filling the hall with radiance, they were not truly graduated or ready to start their life's work in the colony.
Frank was so enchanted with the Saltwood home, and he enjoyed so much the civilized life of taking tea under the great oaks, that all thought of becoming a missionary vanished, but he did tell his cousin, Sir Victor Saltwood, M.P., of the curious experience he had had of going into a blue funk, from which he was rescued only by this forceful stranger. 'I'm indebted to him. He quite saved me, you know.'
He was therefore surprised and not a little pleased when he boarded his ship at Southampton to find that one of the first-class cabins was occupied by this belated graduate of Oxford, and with uncharacteristic boldness he presented himself before the man, saying, 'I must thank you for having saved my life.'
The stranger knew immediately who he was and remembered the brief conversation. 'I saw you buckling down to your examinations. I was pleased.'
'I say, if we're to travel so long together, shouldn't I know your name? Mine's Saltwood.'
'I know. De Kraal. Sir Richard, the old fool Hilary. I'm C. J. Rhodes.'
'Thank you for what you did, Mr. Rhodes.'
The brusque man extended no invitation either to call him by something other than Mr. Rhodes or to walk with him, and the conversation ended. Since Frank's quarters were at the farther end of the ship, during the first week he saw his fellow graduate no more, but during the second week some older men were gathered in a salon, engaged in heated conversation, and when they saw Frank passing, one of them called, 'I say, Saltwood. You live at De Kraal, don't you?'
'I do.'
'Stop with us a moment.' Place was made for him, and when he was seated, the man who had hailed him said, 'Do you think of South Africa as rich or poor?'
For several moments Frank compared images of rural England as he had come to know it with those of the veld, and he had to confess: 'I would say on the poor side.'
'He's right!' an excited, high-pitched voice cried. 'I tell you, South Africa's an impoverished land. Only hard work and imagination will save it.'
Mr. Rhodes spoke with a book of maps on his knees, and as the men listened he outlined his basic thesis, slapping at the maps with a stubby hand as he made his points. 'Look at the map, man. Look at what nature did.' And with a pudgy forefinger he showed how South Africa ended at a degree of latitude where the more fortunate continents