"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. "_But_," the speaker emphasized--"I am not permitted to do this, Mr. Catherwood. Had you taken that examination you might--mind you I say 'might'--have passed. Again you might not. There would have been, you see, an element of chance. Mr. Catherwood, we shall let Chance hold the scales this morning." The young man looked up wonderingly. "I don't understand, sir," he said, weakly. In his hand the president held two envelopes. "Mr. Catherwood," he said, "you see these envelopes? Yes. Well, in one of them--I do not know which one--is a credit-slip; in the other is a condition. The envelopes are sealed." He held them out to the limp creature at the end of the desk. "Choose," he commanded. Catherwood shrank back. "Oh, sir," he murmured, brokenly. "Choose." Their eyes met then; and there was that in the president's that forbade his disobeying. He put forth a trembling hand. His fingers touched the smooth paper. He drew. He crushed the envelope in his hand. "Is--is--that all, sir?" he begged, falteringly. "That is all, Mr. Catherwood, good-morning." And he seized his cap and rushed from the room. The president, alone, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he looked down. He still held the second envelope. He ran the slim blade of the ebon-handled dagger beneath the flap and ripped it open. He drew out the slip that it contained. A queer little look came into his eyes. Then he pursed his lips, and smiled. He tore the slip into tiny flakes and let them fall from his open hand like snow, into the waste-basket. Just then the bells in the library tower clanged out four times. "Dear, dear!" exclaimed the president. "Half-past one! I shall be late for luncheon!" And gathering up his coat and hat he left his office, hurriedly. THE DOOR--A NOCTURNE