Professor Palmer, the artist, was to visit the family the following Sunday. When there appeared a smallish, Yankee looking individual, wrinkled face, a tuft of beard on his chin, similar to that bestowed upon the comic cartoons of the face of Uncle Sam, a beaked nose, very dirty hands and iron grey hair, sparsely sprinkled over his acorn-shaped head, Alfred thought a farmer or stock breeder had called on his father. When introduced by the father as "My son, Alfred, Professor Palmer," Alfred was taken off his feet and his idea of art dropped away down. The only attraction of the professor was his eloquence, his ability to talk entertainingly. This he did continuously with a pronunciation so correct and studied that it sounded pedantic. The professor kept up his talk, as affected at times as the hand-cuff king's stage announcements or those of the middleman in a minstrel show. After dinner the professor expressed a desire to take a walk with Alfred. They walked far, the professor talked long, and became annoyingly confidential. He said: "Your father has told me a great deal about you and I must admit that you are a mighty smart young man. You don't belong in this one-horse town, you should get out in the world where there are opportunities waiting for all such as you. You could live in this town a thousand years and you'd be just what you are now. You have had some experience in the show line but in a line that is beneath you; your place in the show business is higher up. I want your advice," he continued insinuatingly. "Now, I offered John (he referred to Alfred's father), the best thing of his life. He has worked hard all of his days; he is deserving of something better. I have offered him a half interest in my show. ("Holy Mother of Moses!" thought Alfred). I have borrowed a little money from him but I need nine hundred dollars more to put me out right. Now Jack is considering the matter. I wish you, who know more about the show business than both of us put together, (Alfred knew he was being flattered), would talk to him, use your influence with him." Notwithstanding Alfred's life's ambition to become a showman, the idea as presented by the professor filled him with disgust. His father going into the show business! He had pictured show life in his illusions as one long, summer day's dream, but now it seemed the meanest of careers. The idea of his father associating himself with such a calling was repugnant in the extreme. Alfred could scarcely restrain his thoughts from taking expression in wrathful words. The man continued, not noticing Alfred's changed expression: "You could sing and dance in this entertainment, do just what you pleased, it would make it all the better. I'll deliver the lecture and your daddy, (he was becoming insultingly familiar), could sit at the door and rake in the money. Hasn't the old man talked to you about it? I've been talking to him for six months."