entered, trying to avoid either a furtive slink or a chip-on-shoulder
swagger, the crowd in the lobby stopped talking abruptly, then began
again on an obviously changed subject. The word had gotten around,
apparently. Handley, the head of the Latin Department, greeted him
with a distantly polite nod. Pompous old owl; regarded himself, for
some reason, as a sort of unofficial Dean of the Faculty. Probably
didn't want to be seen fraternizing with controversial characters.
One of the younger men, with a thin face and a mop of unruly hair,
advanced to meet him as he came in, as cordial as Handley was remote.

"Oh, hello, Ed!" he greeted, clapping a hand on Chalmers' shoulder. "I
was hoping I'd run into you. Can you have dinner with us this
evening?" He was sincere.

"Well, thanks, Leonard. I'd like to, but I have a lot of work. Could
you give me a rain-check?"

"Oh, surely. My wife was wishing you'd come around, but I know how it
is. Some other evening?"

"Yes, indeed." He guided Fitch toward the dining-room door and nodded
toward a table. "This doesn't look too crowded; let's sit here."

After lunch, he stopped in at his office. Marjorie Fenner was there,
taking dictation from Pottgeiter; she nodded to him as he entered, but
she had no summons to the president's office.

* * * * *

The summons was waiting for him, the next morning, when he entered the