“There’s no question about our lack of freedom,” said Guthrie hastily, “nor about our need of it. But what means do you suggest to us, Miss Martin, for gaining it?”
“Well,” said Vida, “here’s Kenton Clark, one of the best economists in the country, in danger of being kicked out for recommending my lecture. Brooks and Gleason went the same way last year. Who kicks you out?”
“The President,” said Guthrie. “He holds his authority, however, from omnipotent Regents who can kick him out—and frequently do.” That idea seemed rather pleasant to Guthrie. He smiled at it.
“Why don’t you elect your own Regents and your own President—as Americans should?” asked Vida. “Why not insist that you shall be removable only by vote of your own colleagues? It’s absurd that a body of men as highly trained as a university faculty should not be self-governing.”
“Yes, yes,” said Guthrie, “it is absurd. But here’s the existing system. What force is capable of transforming it?”
“Organization,” said Vida, fresh from her button-cutters. “How many college teachers are there?”
“Twenty-eight thousand,” said Guthrie. “Five thousand of ‘em women.”
“But not five thousand of ’em men,” said Kenton Clark with a malicious chuckle.
“They would be—with power,” said Vida. “I’d like to see it. The scholar would become a real force. It would be good to see thinking married again to doing, after the long divorce that has made them both sterile.”
“There’s plenty of powder lying loose in discontented faculties,” Clark mused. “If only it could be rammed together and—touched with flame.”