II





The Professor, on presenting his card, had imagined that it would
command prompt access to the publisher's sanctuary; but the young
man who read his name was not moved to immediate action. It was
clear that Professor Linyard of Hillbridge University was not a
specific figure to the purveyors of popular literature. But the
publisher was an old friend; and when the card had finally drifted
to his office on the languid tide of routine he came forth at once
to greet his visitor.

The warmth of his welcome convinced the Professor that he had been
right in bringing his manuscript to Ned Harviss. He and Harviss had
been at Hillbridge together, and the future publisher had been one
of the wildest spirits in that band of college outlaws which yearly
turns out so many inoffensive citizens and kind husbands and
fathers. The Professor knew the taming qualities of life. He was
aware that many of his most reckless comrades had been transformed
into prudent capitalists or cowed wage-earners; but he was almost
sure that he could count on Harviss. So rare a sense of irony, so
keen a perception of relative values, could hardly have been blunted
even by twenty years' intercourse with the obvious.