The registrar met him in the main corridor. "What is this I have been reading?" he asked sharply. "This that the papers are full of? What is it?" The registrar followed him into his private office where, as the president unlocked his desk, he explained accurately, tersely, the frenzy that had seized the University, and the town; the state, the nation, and the world. As he spoke he was interrupted again and again by the characteristic "ah" of the president, who as he listened, toyed with a steel envelope opener. "And those are the facts in the case as you--that is to say the faculty--know them; are they?" he asked, when the other had done. The registrar nodded. "Ah, yes," murmured the president--"now let me see if I have them correct and in their order;" and he recited the story as he had heard it from the other's lips, accurately, succinctly, with no point missing. "Those are the facts, doctor," the registrar corroborated. "Ah yes,--quite simple--yes." The registrar was about to move away. "Ah, just a moment," the president called. "You know Mr. Catherwood's address----" "One hundred and three, Williams Street----" "Ah, yes." And he hastily wrote a note which he folded and addressed. "Have this delivered to Mr. Catherwood at once at his rooms." The registrar nodded. "And if he should call here at the office, have him wait, please--have him wait. I wish a word with professor Lowe." He vanished into the corridor. He was absent ten minutes and as he passed through the waiting-room to the inner private office he glanced into the office of the registrar. He closed the door noiselessly and seating himself at his desk, proceeded with slow deliberation to open his accumulated mail. * * * * * The bells in the library tower clanged twelve o'clock. As the last detonation sounded through the high corridors of the main building a timid knock fell upon the door. The president glanced up quickly. He drew from an inner pocket of his coat two envelopes, which he laid on the top of the desk. Then:-- "Come in!" he called. The door opened and Catherwood, streaked of face and hollow eyed, stood upon the threshold. The president rose. "Ah, Mr. Catherwood," he exclaimed, smiling. He advanced upon his caller with outstretched hand. Catherwood was not conscious of the warm clasp; he only knew one thing--that he had been summoned and that now he was in the presence of the genius of the institution of which he himself was a little part. "You--you sent for me, sir," he managed to say. "Yes--ah--you got my note of course. Sit down." The president seated himself at his desk and wheeled that he might face the odd creature near the door. "Well, well, Mr. Catherwood," he exclaimed, after a moment, "they appear to have been treating you rather badly, eh?" Catherwood pleaded with his eyes alone. "Well, well; what does it all mean, Mr. Catherwood?" he went on, kindly. "You've no enemies here, have you----"