"
"Well, good luck to you!" called Mott as he and his companion passed on
down the street.
Will rang the bell and was at once ushered into the professor's study.
The professor himself was seated at his desk with a green shade over his
eyes, and evidently had been at work upon some papers. Will even fancied
that he could recognize the one which he himself had handed in the
preceding day and his embarrassment increased.
"Ah, good evening, Mr. Phelps," said the professor extending his hand
and partly rising from his seat as he greeted his caller. "Will you be
seated?"
"Good evening, professor," replied the freshman as he took the chair
indicated.
An awkward silence followed which Will somehow found it difficult to
break in upon. He heartily wished that he had not come, for the reality
was much worse than he had thought. Even the very lines and furrows in
the professor's face seemed to him to be forbidding, and he felt that it
would be well-nigh impossible for him to explain the purpose of his
coming.
"Was there something concerning which you desired to consult me?"
inquired the professor. The voice seemed to be as impersonal as that of
a phonograph, and every letter in every word was so distinctly
pronounced that the effect was almost electric.
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