they caught up with Chalmers--an elderly man, with white hair and a
ruddy face; a young man who looked like a heavy-weight boxer; a
middle-aged man in tweeds who smoked a pipe and looked as though he
ought to be more interested in grouse-shooting and flower-gardening
than in clairvoyance and telepathy. The names of the first two meant
nothing to Chalmers. They were important names in their own field, but
it was not his field. The name of the third, who listened silently, he
did not catch.

"You understand, gentlemen, that I'm having some difficulties with the
college administration about this," he told them. "President Whitburn
has even gone so far as to challenge my fitness to hold a position
here."

"We've talked to him," the elderly man said. "It was not a very
satisfactory discussion."

"President Whitburn's fitness to hold his own position could very
easily be challenged," the young man added pugnaciously.

"Well, then, you see what my position is. I've consulted my attorney,
Mr. Weill and he has advised me to make absolutely no statements of
any sort about the matter."

"I understand," the eldest of the trio said. "But we're not the press,
or anything like that. We can assure you that anything you tell us
will be absolutely confidential." He looked inquiringly at the
middle-aged man in tweeds, who nodded silently. "We can understand
that the students in your modern history class are telling what is
substantially the truth?"