Allan reluctantly departed, and Kirk went back to his quarters in high displeasure. It seemed as if the affair had actually left a bad taste in his mouth. He could not compose his features into anything like a decently amiable expression, but went about with a bitter smile upon his lips. Every time some new aspect of his grotesque and humiliating mistake occurred to him he suffered a nervous twinge. That afternoon a card was brought to him bearing the ornate inscription in a beautiful Spencerian hand: PROFESSOR JESUS HERARA THE HERARA COLLEGE OF BUSINESS Reconciling himself as best he could to the prospect of an interview with some importunate stranger, he grudgingly consented to have the visitor brought in. Professor Herara was not alone. He was accompanied by a very short, very fat man, whose smooth skin had the rich, dark coloring of a nice, oily Cuban cigar. "Senor Anthony, it is?" inquired the Professor, bowing ceremoniously. "That's my name." "It is my privilege to consult you upon a business of importance." "I'm afraid you have the wrong party. I don't care to learn shorthand." "Ah, no, it is not concerning my academy. Allow me to present Senor Luis Torres." Kirk felt the room begin to revolve slowly. "My friend does not possess a card at the moment, eh?" continued the Professor. The little, rotund man bowed, his hand-polished, mahogany features widening in a smile. "'Sveree hot wedder!" he exclaimed. "He begs one thousand pardons for not speaking of your language the more perfectly, and so he is request of me to be his interpreter." Something urged Kirk to flee while there was yet time, but the father of Maria Torres was between him and the door, and he could not bring himself to push the little man out of the way. So he bade them both be seated in the only two chairs which the room contained, while he rested gingerly upon the edge of the bed. The new-comers let their eyes roll curiously about the chamber, and an embarrassing silence descended. Senor Torres maintained a set smile designed to be agreeable; Professor Herara, serene in the possession of his linguistic acquirements, displayed the insouciance of an undertaker. Together they beamed benignantly, almost patronizingly, upon the young man. Plainly they meant to put him at his ease--but they failed. At length, after clearing his throat impressively, the interpreter began again: "Of course, you have been expecting this visit, senor?" "N--not exactly." "My friend is deeply disappointed that he has not the honor of before meeting you." "I am flattered, but--" "Indeed, yes! Then you are perhaps acquainted with Senor Torres by reputation? You know who he is?" Professor Jesus Herara raised his brows and inclined his head like a polite school-teacher endeavoring to encourage a diffident pupil. "I regret that I do not."