Immediately the news was scattered out of the class-room. It
became common property. It was spread over the country and was
featured in all the great metropolitan dailies. In the lecture-
room next morning seats were at a premium; students, professors,
instructors and all the prominent people who could gain admission
crowded into the hall; even the irrepressible reporters had stolen
in to take down the greatest scoop of the century. The place was
jammed until even standing room was unthought of. The crowd, dense
and packed and physically uncomfortable, waited.

The minutes dragged by. It was a long, long wait. But at last the
bell rang that ticked the hour. Every one was expectant. And then
fifteen minutes passed by, twenty--the crowd settled down to
waiting. At length one of the colleagues stepped into the doctor's
office and telephoned to his home. His daughter answered.

"Father? Why he left over two hours ago."

"About what time?"

"Why, it was about seven-thirty. You know he was to deliver his
lecture today on the Blind Spot. I wanted to hear it, but he told
me I could have it at home. He said he was to have a wonderful
guest and I must make ready to receive him. Isn't father there?"
"Not yet. Who was this guest? Did he say?"

"Oh yes! In a way. A most wonderful man. And he gave him a
wonderful name, Rhamda Avec. I remember because it is so funny. I
asked father if he was Sanskrit; and he said he was much older
than that. Just imagine!"