Jonathan had listened to College babble for two years. Listening, he’d picked up some ease with speech himself; even so he sensed more than heard a new strain in this oddly personal spiel – and realized that a shift had taken place, that the interweave of tinsel had lessened, that the bartender was forgotten, that what he was hearing was meant for him alone. His anger disappeared. ‘Why did you run away?’ he said. ‘What was the point?’

College gulped at his whiskey. ‘Lo and behold!’ he went on. ‘In the fair city of Boston papa Sebastian ran across Helen Andrews Hogg. Sixteen years old, tiny, thin, lively – she’s still like that – and she wrote poems in Latin and Greek. Ghastly poems. But poems are poems after all. And her poems came with an independent income of $2000 a year. Imagine it: $2000 a year. Sebastian fell in love at once. She fell in love, too. Marriage ensued, as it will. They were going to open a lyceum and be to Boston what Aristotle was to Athens. If you can’t be a gentleman in England – well, what the hell – a gentleman can breed a gentleman even in Boston.’ College poured whiskey into his glass until the liquor slopped out over the bar. ‘Troubles, troubles. They couldn’t afford Boston. $2000 a year and they couldn’t afford Boston. So they bought a piece of land off the coast of Maine not far from a town called Ellsworth – nice town – whitewashed clapboard buildings, streets lined with wineglass elms, little church with spire in a grassy square. Very nice. And there they established—’

‘You ran away from there? For Christ’s sake, from a place like that?’

College beat out a fanfare on the table with the fingers of one hand. ‘Malloy’s Landing! Culture for all! There they bred me – Rayner Hogg, son of a gentleman – and enrolled me at the tender age of twelve months. Oh, what a good boy was I. Mama and papa published my poems in ads in the Boston Globe: Malloy’s Landing grew and prospered. When I was eighteen there were eighteen pupils to celebrate my birthday.’

The bar room was hot. ‘But why did you run away?’ Jonathan pressed. ‘Tell me why.’

College swallowed down what remained of the bottle, then dropped it onto the floor. ‘Better sit down,’ he said. Jonathan helped him to a table. ‘When I was bad they wouldn’t talk to me – silence – terrible silence – You know what, Johnny?’ he interrupted himself. ‘I’ll tell you something important: You smell. Now don’t get offended. All men smell. I smell. It’s a fact of life. Women smell. Isn’t it? Fact of life. Get me a drink, will you?’

Jonathan fetched a second bottle.

‘But not at Malloy’s Landing. Nobody smells at Malloy’s Landing. Nobody shits there. Nobody sweats. Nobody – Know where I come from?’ He nodded gravely at Jonathan. ‘Little Rayner came out of a water lily.’