'You think I want pecuniary assistance; well, I do.' 'I fear you have come to the wrong person, at the wrong time, and if I may say so, in the wrong way. I do not like to be disturbed at this hour. Will you kindly leave me this instant?' Carrel's manner changed and became more deferential. 'If you will allow me to show you something on which I want your opinion, something I can leave with you, I will go away at once and come back to- morrow at any time you name.' 'Very well,' said the Professor, wearily, ready to compromise the matter for the moment. From a small bag he was carrying Carrel produced a roll of papyrus. The Professor's eyes gleamed; he held out his hands greedily to receive it, fixing a searching, suspicious glance on Carrel. 'Where did you get this, may I ask?' 'I want your opinion first, and then I will tell you.' The Professor moved towards the lamp, replaced the cardboard green shade, sat down, and with a strong magnifying-glass examined the papyrus with evident interest. Carrel, appreciating the interest he was exciting, talked on in rapid jerky sentences. 'Yes. I think you will be able to help me. I am sure you will do so. Like yourself, I am a scholar, and might have occupied a position in Europe similar to your own.' The Professor smiled grimly, but did not look up from the table as Carrel continued: 'Mine has been a strange career. I was educated abroad. I became a scholar at Cambridge. There was no prize I did not carry off. I knew more Greek than both Universities put together. Then I was cursed not only with inclination for vices, but with capacity and courage to practise them--liquor, extravagance, gambling--amusements for rich people; but I was poor.' 'It is a very sad and a very common story,' said the Professor sententiously, but without looking up from the table. 'I myself was an Oxford man. Your name is quite unfamiliar to me.' 'I fancy if you asked them at Cambridge they would certainly remember me.' 'I shall make a point of doing so,' said the professor drily. He affected to be giving only partial attention to the narrative; but though he seemed to be sedulous in his examination of the papyrus, he was listening intently. 'I was a great disappointment to the Dons,' Carrel said with a short laugh, and he lit a cigarette with all the swagger of an undergraduate. 'And to your parents?' queried Lachsyrma. 'My mother was dead. I don't exactly know who my father was. I fear these details bore you, however. To-morrow--' he added satirically. 'A very romantic story, no doubt,' said the Professor, rising from his chair, 'and it interests me--moderately; but before we go on any further, I will be candid with you. That papyrus is a forgery--a very clever forgery, too. I wonder why the writer tried Euripides; we have almost enough of him.' 'So do I sometimes,' returned Carrel cheerfully. The Professor arched his eyebrows in surprise.