“Are you waiting to see how much I’ll give?” My hand trembled at the insult, but I made no reply. “Come,” he continued, “are you standing out in hopes I will offer you something?” “No.” “How much?” he asked. “I have been elected to the Philomathean, Mr. Whitely,” I said, concluding that an explanation might be the easiest escape, after all, “and to it I owe a distinct duty. If you were not my employer, I should feel called upon to work against you.” “Why?” he exclaimed, in surprise. “Is it necessary to say?” I answered. “Yes. What is your objection to me?” “Did you never read Æsop’s fable of the jackdaw?” I asked. “That’s it, is it? And you are opposing my election?” “By not the slightest act.” “Then why did Blodgett predict that I would surely be rejected? I’ve a reputation as a writer, as a philanthropist, and as a successful business man. What more do they want?” “As I told Miss Walton yesterday,” I explained, “a man’s true and eventual reputation depends, not on what the world thinks of him, but on what his fellow-craft decide.” “Well?” “There is scarcely an author or editor at the Philomathean who is not opposed to your election, Mr. Whitely.” “You have been telling tales,” he muttered angrily. “You should know better.” “Then what have they against me?” “Any man who works with his pen learns that no one can write either editorials or books, of the kind credited to you, without years of training. The most embarrassing ordeal I have to undergo is the joking and questioning with which the fraternity tease me. But you need never fear my not keeping faith.” “Yet you won’t help me into the Philomathean?” “No.” “So you’ll make money out of me, but think your club too good?” “I owe my club a duty.” “I know,” he went on smoothly, “that you’re an awful screw, when there’s a dollar in sight. How much do you want?” My silence should have warned him, but he was too self-absorbed to feel anything but his own mood. “How much do you want?” he repeated, and I still sat without speaking, though the room blurred, and I felt as if I were stifling. “The day I’m elected to the Philomathean, I’ll give you”— I rose and interrupted him, saying, “Mr. Whitely, if you wish me to leave your house and employment, you can obtain my absence in an easier way than by insulting me.” For a moment we faced each other in silence, and then he rose. “Hereafter, Dr. Hartzmann, you will pay those dues yourself,” he said in a low voice, as he moved towards the door. I only bowed, glad that the matter was so easily ended; and for nearly two months our relations have been of the most formal kind that can exist between employer and employed.