“How would it do, Mr. Hooper,” he said, sweetly, “if, instead of ten men giving you four thousand each, as you plan, one man were to give you forty thousand in annual instalments of ten thousand each? Could that be arranged as well?” “My dear Mr. Cowperwood,” exclaimed the doctor, glowing, his eyes alight, “do I understand that you personally might wish to give the money for this lens?” “I might, yes. But I should have to exact one pledge, Mr. Hooper, if I did any such thing.” “And what would that be?” “The privilege of giving the land and the building—the whole telescope, in fact. I presume no word of this will be given out unless the matter is favorably acted upon?” he added, cautiously and diplomatically. The new president of the university arose and eyed him with a peculiarly approbative and grateful gaze. He was a busy, overworked man. His task was large. Any burden taken from his shoulders in this fashion was a great relief. “My answer to that, Mr. Cowperwood, if I had the authority, would be to agree now in the name of the University, and thank you. For form’s sake, I must submit the matter to the trustees of the University, but I have no doubt as to the outcome. I anticipate nothing but grateful approbation. Let me thank you again.” They shook hands warmly, and the solid collegian bustled forth. Cowperwood sank quietly in his chair. He pressed his fingers together, and for a moment or two permitted himself to dream. Then he called a stenographer and began a bit of dictation. He did not care to think even to himself how universally advantageous all this might yet prove to be.