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A Master's Degree by Margaret Hill McCarter
page 79 of 219 (36%)
I forbid you to mention her name. You, who come in here from some barren,
poverty-stricken prairie home, where good breeding is unknown.
You, to presume to think of such a girl as Dr. Fenneben's beautiful niece,
whose reputation was barely saved by old Bond Saxon on the stormy night
after the holiday. You, who are forced for some reason to care for an
unknown child. You, whose true character will soon be fully known here--
if this is what you have to say, you may go," he added with an imperious
wave of the hand.

The meanness of anger is in its mastery. Burgess had meant
only to discipline Burleigh, but it was too late for that now.
The rotunda was very quiet. Everybody was down on the field waiting
impatiently for the game to begin. Burgess was also impatient.
There was a seat waiting for him beside Elinor Wream.

"I'm not quite ready to go"--Vic's fierce voice filled the rotunda--"because
you are going to write my credentials for this game, and you'll do it quick,
or beg for mercy."

"I refuse to consider a word you say." Burgess was furious now,
and the white face and burning eyes of his opponent were unbearable.
"I will not grant you any credentials, you low-born prize-fighter--"

A sudden grip of steel held him fast as Vic towered over him.
The softened light of the dome of the rotunda, where the Kansas motto,
"_Ad Astra per Aspera_." adorned the stained glass panes,
had never fallen on such a scene as this.

"See here, Burleigh, you'll repent this unwarranted attack,"
Burgess cried, trying to free himself. "Brute force will win
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