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got up and was rustling the leaves of the lime trees.
    James felt disinclined for bed. He perched on the precinct wall, got out a cigarette and smoked it slowly.
    When he looked up again, the shadow had moved. It was creeping toward him. He had an uncomfortable illusion that if he didn’t get away quickly, the Cathedral would fall on top of him.
    “Be your age,” he said. “Go to bed.”

Four
    “Having examined the figures,” said the Archdeacon, “I have come to the conclusion that it would be cheaper to accept the offer put forward by parents to take the boys to matches in their own cars. We pay for their petrol.”
    “Not only cheaper,” said Dora Brookes. “More comfortable for the boys. Last term two of them were always sick in the coach. It didn’t improve their cricket.”
    “I imagine not. Then that is the last point on the accounts, Headmaster?”
    “Nothing else that I know of,” said Lawrence Consett, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.
    The committee was meeting in the school dining room, about which still hovered the faint smell of school breakfast. In addition to the Archdeacon and Dora Brookes, it consisted of Canon Lister, Anthony Openshaw and Dr McHarg, who looked after the health of the school and of many of the inhabitants of the Close as well.
    “I am sure,” the Archdeacon continued with a smile which embraced them all, “that you find me tiresomely insistent on these small economies, but I think you’ll agree that in times like the present we have to look carefully at every penny before we spend it. I’d go further. It would be even better if we could not only save money, but actually make a small profit here and there. It’s a matter I have been giving thought to in the last few weeks.”
    The headmaster looked at him suspiciously. What now?
    “I have had what seemed to me to be an attractive offer. The Western Operatic Group is doing a season next month at Winchester, Salisbury and Bath. All within easy distance of us here at Melchester. As it happens, three of the works which they have in repertory feature boy singers. The Queen of Spades, The Cunning Little Vixen and La Bohème. The producer tells me that he could use up to eight of our boys in these parts. They would be responsible for any theatrical coaching, of course. And they would pay an honorarium of a hundred pounds for each performance.”
    There was a moment of silence.
    “How many performances?” said Dr McHarg.
    “Four in each town. One matinee and three evening performances.”
    “What fun it would be for them,” said Mrs Brookes. “I’m sure they’d love it. They do adore dressing up.”
    “Twelve hundred pound,” said Dr McHarg. “Aye, that’s a tidy sum. It would almost defray the cost of the bathroom improvements.”
    “I was thinking of earmarking it for that purpose. It seemed to me an offer we ought to accept. I agree with Mrs Brookes that the boys should enjoy it. But it was rather in my mind that it would broaden their musical education.” He looked round the committee. “Can I take it, then, that you agree?”
    “You’ll have to take a vote on it,” said Canon Lister. “Because I’m against it.”
    “Why, Tom?”
    “The one thing the boys don’t need broadening or widening or extending in any direction is their musical education. They get plenty of that here. What needs looking after is their general education. They forfeit nearly two hours to music every morning and an hour every evening. As soon as their voices break, they’ll be going on to public schools and their parents will be thinking about scholarships. Some of them are not too well off.”
    “No doubt their parents will bear in mind that the Cathedral contributes five hundred pounds a year toward their sons’ education here,” said Dr McHarg. “They might not grudge a small return for that.”
    “Well, I’m for it,” said Dora Brookes.
    “Anthony?”
    “I’m with Canon Lister on this,” said Openshaw.