But the face his eyes encountered was most kindly.

His eyes fell again.

The president took up the envelope opener and placed the steel point to his lips.

"Mr. Catherwood," he began, and hesitated.

"Yes, sir."

"Of course you know," he went on, "that since my return the facts in your case have been placed before me by certain members of the faculty who are familiar with them."

"Yes, sir," Catherwood murmured.

"Now, Mr. Catherwood, while they have told me many things of interest, there is one little detail that seems to me to have a very important bearing upon the case, but which, for some unaccountable reason, they all seem to have missed. Perhaps you can throw some light upon this dark place." The president indulged here in a round, full laugh.

Encouraged by the infinite kindness of this voice, Catherwood lifted his eyes.

"Yes, sir; if I can--what is it?"

"Ah, yes." The president cleared his throat. "Mr. Catherwood," he resumed calmly, twirling the envelope opener between his fingers, "what I wish so very much to know is _how you managed to tie your hands behind you_!"

"Why I----" Catherwood began, and stopped. He tried to wrench his eyes from those of the president,--calm, blue--but could not. The room whirled. The design in the carpet became the design of the walls and of the ceiling; and there were no windows in the room, or doors--and all was black--black--black, save for two points of light; for there were those calm blue eyes, shining back at his.

And then as though it spoke from some great height he heard the mellow voice in his ears again.

"Go on, Mr. Catherwood," the voice said.

At last he managed to wrench his eyes away and stood up, and strode over to the window and looked out upon the white world. He saw two sparrows poise an instant on the crest of a drift.

"Well, Mr. Catherwood----" The voice again.

He turned slowly. His face was pale beneath the disfiguring streaks and stripes of brown.

"I--I--I confess, sir--I confess."

He flung himself into the chair at the end of the desk and covering his poor face with his two hands, sobbed aloud.

The president waited for the paroxysm to pa.s.s.

"Why did you do it, Mr. Catherwood?" he asked, quietly.

"I--I--was afraid of that history examination." The reply came faint.

Turning his face away, he stood up. He groped for his hat.

"But wait a moment, Mr. Catherwood."

Shame-faced the impostor turned, his hand upon the k.n.o.b of the door.

"You have, I believe, neither credit nor condition in that course.

Professor Lowe was at a loss which to give you; and awaited my return.

Ah, sit down, Mr. Catherwood."

He obeyed, meekly. He fumbled his cap.

"Ah, Mr. Catherwood." The voice still was calm and even.

"Yes, sir," Catherwood murmured without changing his position.

"Mr. Catherwood, this is a delicate case--I may say a most delicate case. It is unique in my experience. Indeed I believe it is _absolutely_ unique. Moreover, honesty compels me to say that it was most ingeniously managed--_most_ ingeniously."

The president coughed and raised his hand to his lips. Catherwood looked up an instant and then away again.

"Now, Mr. Catherwood," the president went on in the same dispa.s.sionate tone, "let us look first at the case from your point of view. You were zealous to pa.s.s your history course, ahem, too zealous, perhaps.

However, be that as it may. And I am right, am I not, when I infer that your zeal, your desire in the matter, is still unabated?"

Catherwood nodded, slightly.

"Ah, I thought so. So be it. It is your zeal, then, that induces a certain definite longing for the credit in that course? Am I right?"

"Yes, sir." Weakly.

"Ah, yes. But, Mr. Catherwood, there is that beside our zeal to which we must listen. There is our conscience."

Catherwood shifted uneasily.

"Consult _your_ conscience, Mr. Catherwood. Shall I tell you what it whispers? Very well. It bids you ask for a condition--a condition, Mr.

Catherwood."

"Give it me, doctor; give it me."

The suddenness, the eagerness of the request caused the president to raise his eyebrows. The pale ghost of a smile lingered an instant about his lips.

He held out a restraining hand.

"Just a moment, Mr. Catherwood," he said. "There is another point of view. Mine."

Catherwood had sunk back into his previous att.i.tude of dejection.

"I may state it briefly," the president continued. "My interest in the proper conduct of this University, Mr. Catherwood, bids me give you a condition in the course to which we--ah--have referred. But--and I say this frankly--my interest in you, my boy, bids me hesitate. You are young. Your whole life is before you. A misstep now might mean the ruin of that life."

Catherwood caught his breath with a little spasm of the throat.

"Far be it from me to be the cause of such a misstep." The president spoke less rapidly now. "Too, you have brains. This--ah--your recent exploit is proof of that. Such ingenuity properly directed might work great good for not only you, but--ah--the country at large. Mr.

Catherwood,"--every word was voiced with a cutting precision--"my genuine interest in you prompts me to give you your credit in this course; but----"

Catherwood started in his chair. The face he turned to the president was aglow; the eyes alight.