“The University has no reason for existence unless it rises higher than the rest of the community,” said Guthrie. “It is nothing if it is not able to lift itself out of the community’s inertia and maintain itself against the community’s prejudice. If you had not condemned without inquiry that organization formed last night, you might find that it contains the possibility of raising the faculty into precisely that commanding position.” “I know the purpose of your organization, Professor Guthrie. Its success would mean the end of all directing authority. An executive could not discipline men upon whose votes he was dependent for continuance in his position.” “That is absurd,” said Guthrie scornfully. “An English premier, dependent upon a parliamentary majority, possesses power enough to govern the British Empire. He is not able to dismiss members of Parliament. There’s no reason why the head of a university should have any such power. There is altogether too much disciplining of teachers for acting on their own honest convictions.” “I won’t argue that matter of opinion,” said the President. “The fact is plain that you have placed yourself at the head of an organization directed squarely against the legally constituted authority of this University, and unless you drop it you go.” Guthrie sat silent, facing what he felt must be a vain sacrifice of himself—and nothing gained for his cause. He heard the rushing click of typewriters through the closed door of an adjoining office. Their frequent tiny bells of warning gave him a sense of time moving too fast, events crowding too close. The President rose and walked slowly up and down the room. “Can you afford it, Guthrie?” he said kindly. “How about your life insurance? Will it lapse if you stop payment? How about your house? Still paying for it?” “You are remarkably well informed as to my private affairs,” said Guthrie coldly. “You have given me reason to be. Your children are approaching their most expensive years. How about their education? Do you want Harold and Lucy Guthrie to sink back into the untrained, ignorant class?” “That’s the fiendish cruelty of this!” cried Guthrie. He saw the eager face of Harold offering to sacrifice his little Indian suit. “That’s where you’ve got me,” he said despondently. “No wonder one of the Regents offered to double Clark’s salary if he would marry. There’s something hellish in a system that makes a slave of a man through the needs of his children!” “It is doubtful if any other university will want you when it becomes known why you left here,” mused the President. “Don’t do it, Guthrie. You’ve been a living influence with our students. Many an old grad. is grateful to you for kindling in him here a life-long love of letters. You ought to go on doing that for twenty years.”