CHAPTER XXVI
The professor was smoking under the maples by the front steps when
the car drove up. He looked very cool, very comfortable and very
sure of himself--entirely too sure of himself, in John's opinion.
John, who at the moment, felt neither cool nor comfortable, and
anything but sure, observed him with envy and pity. Envy for so
obvious a content, pity for an ignorance which made content
possible.
Spence, on his part, seemed unaware of a certain tenseness in the
attitude of both Desire and John, a symptom which might have
suggested many things to a reflective mind.
"You look frightfully 'het up,' Bones," he said. "And your collar is
wilting. Better pause in your mad career and have some tea."
"Thanks, can't. Office hours--see you later," jerked the doctor
rapidly as he turned his car.
"What have you been doing to John to bring on an attack of 'office
hours' at this time of day?" asked Spence as he and Desire crossed
the lawn together. "Wasn't the great idea a success?"
"John thinks it was."
It was so unlike Desire to give someone else's opinion when asked
for her own that the professor said "um."
"I suppose," she added stiffly, "it is a question of values."
"Something for something--and a doubt as to whether one pays too
dear for the whistle? Well, don't worry about it. If you could not
help, you probably could not hurt, either. . . . I had a letter from
Li Ho this afternoon."
"A letter!" Desire's swift step halted.
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