Porterhouse Blue читать онлайн

ual of wiping one’s forehead with a napkin dipped in a silver bowl had been performed did he make his move. Rapping his knife handle on the table for silence, the new Master of Porterhouse rose to his feet.In the Musicians’ Gallery Skullion watched the Feast. Behind him in the darkness the lesser College servants clustered backwardly and gaped at the brilliant scene below them, their pale faces gleaming dankly in the reflected glory of the occasion. As each new dish appeared a muted sigh went up. Their eyes glittered momentarily and glazed again. Only Skullion, the Head Porter, sat surveying the setting with an air of critical propriety. There was no envy in his eyes, only approval at the fitness of the arrangements and the occasional unexpressed rebuke when a waiter spilled the gravy or failed to notice an empty glass waiting to be refilled. It was all as it should be, as it had been since Skullion first came to the College as an under-porter so many years ago. Forty-five Feasts there had been since then and at each Skullion had watched from the Musicians’ Gallery just as his ancestors had watched since the college began. “Skullion eh? That’s an interesting name, Skullion,” old Lord Wurford had said when he first stopped by the lodge in 1928 and saw the new porter there. “A very interesting name. Skullion. A no nonsense damn-my-soul name. There’ve been skullions at Porterhouse since the Founder. You take that from me, there have. It’s in the first accounts. A farthing to the skullion. You be proud of it.” And Skullion had been proud of it as though he had been newly christened by the old Master. Yes those were the days and those were the men. Old Lord Wurford, a no nonsense damn-my-soul master. He’d have enjoyed a feast