The Gentleman & The Rake

Day Four: Mr. B vs. The Committee for Literary Fairness

Mr. B sat in the courtroom, his head in his hands. 

He wasn't used to depending on other people's judgments. He wasn't used to being judged. He didn't think the hearing was going well, and he couldn't figure out a solution. 

"We should offer the judge money," he said to Mr. Shorter. 

"It won't work. It's considered bribery." 

"It's considered bribery where we come from." 

"Yes, but it's not overlooked here. We could get a summary judgment against us. Don't worry. The judge isn't unsympathetic." 

"I think the judge regards us all as one step away from performing animals." 

Mr. Shorter laughed. "I'd say we have more entertainment value than the folks across the aisle." 

"I'd rather just get on with my life." Mr. B groaned and leaned back in his chair. "I've never been without her for so long," he said, then grimaced and frowned up at the windows. 

"I'm sure Mrs. B is putting up a fuss in that other novel." 

Mr. B certainly hoped so. But even if she was, he doubted anyone would listen. It wasn't as if these people understood character. 

That ridiculous college professor, for example, was currently trying to reprimand the young, romantic girl. Personally, Mr. B would try flirting with her, but the man just blathered on about himself.

* * *

"So," Gary said to Deborah, "I guess you're one of those young ladies who adores authors like Jane Austen." 

"Sure," Deborah said. 

"I will grant, she is an important female writer." 

"Walter Scott believed no author matched Jane Austen at describing ordinary life and personalities." 

"Yes. Well. But won't you admit that, despite her importance to women's literature, Austen was mired in middle-class values?" 

"I like middle-class values," Deborah said. 

"Of course you would say that," Gary said in an irritated voice; he admired free-thinking as long as it didn't involve anyone contradicting him.  

He said snippily, "I bet you wish you were Elizabeth, hmm, being chased by that handsome Darcy?" 

"Not really," Deborah said. "A lot of women do read books that way. And men too. Sort of what would I do? I like to explore the author's characterizations. Like Mr. B is way more of a homebody than most people picture him. Of course, he served in Parliament, but I think that was just out of a sense of obligation."

* * *

Mr. Shorter snorted, but Mr. B couldn't disagree. Except that a home without Pamela wasn't much of a home. 

"Hidebound literary analysis," the bumptious professor said.  

Mr. Shorter leaned over to Mr. B and said, "What kind of gallantry is that man employing?" 

"He isn't," Mr. B said, rubbing his temples. "He's Polonius." 

"I'm sure Mr. B is quite conservative in his politics," the professor said in the tone of voice he'd used to impugn Mr. B's wealth. 

"You could ask him," Deborah said. 

There was a short silence. At the fictionals' table, Mr. B smiled to himself. The professor was a coward. He probably gravitated to female scholars because they were less trained in rhetoric and therefore easier to bully.