Unseen Academicals Read Online Free PDF Page A

now, alas, become the tradition.’
    ‘Well, that’s fine, isn’t it?’ said Ridcully. ‘If we can make a tradition of not observing another tradition, then that’s doubly traditional, eh? What’s the problem?’
    ‘It’s Archchancellor Preserved Bigger’s Bequest,’ said the Master of The Traditions. ‘The university does very well out of the Bigger estates. They were a very rich family.’
    ‘Hmm, yes. Name rings a faint bell. Decent of him. So?’
    ‘Er, I would have been happier had my predecessor paid a little more attention to some of the traditions,’ said Ponder, who believed in drip-feeding bad news.
    ‘Well, he was dead.’
    ‘Yes, of course. Perhaps, sir, we should, ahem, start a tradition of checking on the health of the Master of The Traditions?’
    ‘Oh, he was quite healthy,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Just dead. Quite healthy for a dead man.’
    ‘He was a pile of dust, Archchancellor!’
    ‘That’s not the same as being ill, exactly,’ said Ridcully, who believed in never giving in. ‘Broadly speaking, it’s stable.’
    Ponder said, ‘There is a condition attached to the bequest. It’s in the small print, sir.’
    ‘Oh, I never bother with small print, Stibbons!’
    ‘I do, sir. It says: “…and thys shall follow as long as the University shall enter a team in the game of foot-the-ball or Poore Boys’ Funne”.’
    ‘Porree boy’s funny?’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
    ‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Ridcully.
    ‘Ridiculous or not, Archchancellor, that is the condition of the bequest.’
    ‘But we stopped taking part in that years ago,’ said Ridcully. ‘Mobs in the streets, kicking and punching and yelling…and they were the players! Mark you, the spectators were nearly as bad! There were hundreds of men in a team! A game could go on for days! That’s why it was stopped.’
    ‘Actually, it has never been stopped as such, Archchancellor,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘ We stopped, yes, and so did the guilds. It was no longer a game for gentlemen.’
    ‘Nevertheless,’ said the Master of The Traditions, running a finger down the page, ‘such are the terms. There are all sorts of other conditions. Oh, dear. Oh, calamity. Oh, surely not…’
    His lips moved silently as he read on. The room craned as one neck.
    ‘Well, out with it, man!’ roared Ridcully.
    ‘I think I’d like to check a few things,’ said the Master of TheTraditions. ‘I would not wish to worry you unduly.’ He glanced down. ‘Oh, hells’ bells!’
    ‘What are you talking about, man?’
    ‘Well, it looks as though—No, it would be unfair to spoil your evening, Archchancellor,’ Ponder protested. ‘I must be reading this wrongly. He surely can’t mean—Oh, good heavens…’
    ‘In a nutshell, please, Stibbons,’ growled Ridcully. ‘I believe I am the Archchancellor of this university? I’m sure it says so on my door.’
    ‘Of course, Archchancellor, but it would be quite wrong of me to—’
    ‘I appreciate that you do not wish to spoil my evening, sir,’ said Ridcully. ‘But I would not hesitate to spoil your day tomorrow. With that in mind, what the hells are you talking about?’
    ‘Er, it would appear, Archchancellor, that, er…When was the last game we took part in, do you know?’
    ‘Anyone?’ said Ridcully to the room in general. A mumbled discussion produced a consensus on the theme of ‘Around twenty years, give or take.’
    ‘Give or take what, exactly?’ said Ponder, who hated this kind of thing.
    ‘Oh, you know. Something of that order. In the general vicinity of, so to speak. Round about then. You know.’
    ‘About?’ said Ponder. ‘Can we be more precise? ’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because if the university hasn’t played in the Poor Boys’ Fun for a period of twenty years or more, the bequest reverts to any surviving relatives of Archchancellor Bigger.’
    ‘But it’s banned, man!’ the Archchancellor insisted.
    ‘Er, not as such. It’s