The teacher of Economics bowed to the flushed youth and buried
himself in a book. It was not till they both rose to leave at the
University station that he noticed the condition of Farnum. Even
then he stood in momentary doubt.

With a maudlin laugh Jeff quieted any possible explanation of
sickness.

"Been havin' little spree down town, Profeshor. Good deal like one
ev'body been havin' out here. Yours shpiritual; mine shpirituous.
Joke, see! Play on wor'd. Shpiritual--shpirituous."

"You're intoxicated, sir," Perkin,s told him sternly.

"Betcherlife I am, old cock! Ever get shp--shp--shpiflicated
yourself?"

"Go home and go to bed, sir!"

"Whaffor? 'S early yet. 'S reasonable man I ask whaffor?"

The professor turned away, but Jeff caught at his sleeve.

"Lesh not go to bed. Lesh talk economicsh."

"Release me at once, sir."

"Jush's you shay. Shancellor wants see me. I'll go now."

He did. What occurred at that interview had better be omitted.