“It 's Perrin.”
CHAPTER XIV—MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM
I.
HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That morning it had meant so much, now——
It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, greater, more sweeping—a system, and at the head of the system, a tyrant.
He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions that had been with him during these last weeks—the illusions about the other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill being always in the room—had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That quarrel over the umbrella, for instance—really, how absurd! When one was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in the world.
What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and thought about them all. Birk-land with his superior sarcasm, Comber with his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had hitherto despised.
He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity....