As he sat on his bed, smoking defiantly an after-breakfast pipe, he could see her in his mind's eye,--a lean, flat-chested, bony person, with a sharp nose and chin, thin gray hair--and a mole, perhaps. "Snippy"--that is what she would be like--in the Beebe order! She would listen to him with a supercilious sniff and condescend patronizingly to put him in the wrong. Yet, he was very anxious to solve his problem, for ever since he had navigated the Flying Ring back from Ungava, he had been meditating on the possibilities afforded by this machine, which could negative the force of gravity. No; he must suppress his natural feelings in the matter and seek out this horny old maid--the research professor of applied mathematics at the National Institute--and get it over with. But he wouldn't change his collar for her--no, sir! Still recalcitrant, he took the car over to Georgetown and inquired of the porter at the observatory for the research professor. The nearer he got to her the more averse he was to calling upon any woman for assistance; but once having appealed to the porter, it was too late to draw back, particularly when the latter conducted him to the door of a small room overlooking the garden, knocked, and left him there. "Come in!" The words had a certain musical quality as if half sung, although spoken, and while he did not recognize the voice, its cheerfulness communicated itself to the dejected spirits of the professor. With his pipe still in his mouth, to show his superiority, Hooker turned the knob and pushed open the door. There, between two high French windows, sat the tan tailor-made girl! She had evidently been dictating, for a weazened, stenographic-looking male with a tonsure was bending over a note-book with elevated pencil. As Professor Hooker entered, the stenographer arose stiffly, and the tan young lady lifted her face toward the door and said, "Good morning!" Then turning to the stenographer: "You may go, Stebbens. I want seven copies of that condensation of Hiroshito's 'Theory of Thermic Induction.'" Bennie stared at her, choking with embarrassment. "Are _you_ the research professor of applied mathematics?" he exclaimed, as the stenographer slid by him. "That's me," she laughed. "I ought to have guessed it," responded Bennie humbly. "How did you get on with your problem?" "I didn't," he replied. "The truth is, I got side-tracked on something else." Then, suddenly becoming conscious of his pipe, he thrust it hurriedly into his trousers pocket. "For heaven's sake go on smoking!" said the girl. "I don't believe you could think at all without your pipe." "That's true, too," said Bennie, replacing it where it belonged, with gratitude. "Do you mind taking a look at these equations? I'm after something different this time--not as hard as the other one--but I'm not sure of the solution." He laid his note-book down before her.