Part 17 (1/2)

Radishes. Greek synonym for radishes.”

The professor entered. ” Oh,” he said apologetically, as if he were intruding in a boudoir. All his serious desire to probe Coleman to the bottom ended in embarra.s.sment.

Mayhap it was not a law of feeling, but it happened at any rate.

” He had come in a puzzled frame of mind, even an accusative frame of mind, and almost immediately he found himself suffer.

ing like a culprit before his judge. It is a phenomenon of what we call guilt and innocence.

” Coleman welcomed him cordially. ” Well, professor, good-morning. I've rounded up some things that at least may be eaten.”

” You are very good ” very considerate, Mr. Coleman,”

answered the professor, hastily. ” I'am sure we are much indebted to you.” He had scanned the correspondent's face, land it had been so devoid of guile that he was fearful that his suspicion, a base suspicion, of this n.o.ble soul would be detected. ” No, no, we can never thank you enough.”

Some of the students began to caper with a sort of decorous hilarity before their teacher. ” Look at the sausage, professor.

Did you ever see such sausage ” Isn't it salubrious ” And see these other things, sir. Aren't they curious ” I shouldn't wonder if they were alive. Turnips, sir? No, sir. I think they are Pharisees. I have seen a Pharisee look like a pelican, but I have never seen a Pharisee look like a turnip, so I think these turnips must be Pharisees, sir, Yes, they may be walrus. We're not sure.

Anyhow, their angles are geometrically all wrong. Peter, look out.”

Some green stuff was flung across the room. The professor laughed; Coleman laughed. Despite c.o.ke, dark-browed, sulking. and yet desirous of reinstating himself, the room had waxed warm with the old college feeling, the feeling of lads who seemed never to treat anything respectfully and yet at the same time managed to treat the real things with respect. The professor himself contributed to their wild carouse over the strange Greek viands.

It was a vivacious moment common to this cla.s.s in times of relaxation, and it was understood perfectly.

c.o.ke arose. ” I don't see that I have any friends here,” he said, hoa.r.s.ely, ” and in consequence I don't see why I should remain here.”

All looked at him. At the same moment Mrs. Wainwright and Marjory entered the room.

CHAPTER XIX.

”Good-morning,” said Mrs. Wainwright jovially to the students and then she stared at Coleman as if he were a sweep at a wedding.

” Good-morning,” said Marjory.

Coleman and the students made reply. ” Good-morning.

Good-morning. Good-morning. Good-morning--”

It was curious to see this greeting, this common phrase, this bit of old ware, this antique, come upon a dramatic scene and pulverise it. Nothing remained but a ridiculous dust. c.o.ke, glowering, with his lips still trembling from heroic speech, was an angry clown, a pantaloon in rage. Nothing was to be done to keep him from looking like an a.s.s. He, strode toward the door mumbling about a walk before breakfast.

Mrs. Wainwright beamed upon him. ” Why, Mr. c.o.ke, not before breakfast ? You surely won't have time.” It was grim punishment. He appeared to go blind, and he fairly staggered out of the door mumbling again, mumbling thanks or apologies or explanations. About the mouth of Coleman played a sinister smile. The professor cast. upon his wife a glance expressing weariness. It was as if he said ” There you go again. You can't keep your foot out of it.” She understood the glance, and so she asked blankly: ”Why, What's the matter? Oh.”

Her belated mind grasped that it waw an aftermath of the quarrel of Coleman and c.o.ke. Marjory looked as if she was distressed in the belief that her mother had been stupid. Coleman was outwardly serene. It was Peter Tounley who finally laughed a cheery, healthy laugh and they all looked at him with grat.i.tude as if his sudden mirth had been a real statement or recon- ciliation and consequent peace.

The dragoman and others disported themselves until a breakfast was laid upon the floor. The adventurers squatted upon the floor. They made a large company. The professor and Coleman discussed the means of getting to Athens. Peter Tounley sat next to Marjory. ” Peter,” she said, privately, ” what was all this trouble between Coleman and c.o.ke ? ”

Peter answered blandly: ” Oh, nothing at Nothing at all.”

” Well, but--” she persisted, ” what was the cause of it?”

He looked at her quaintly. He was not one of those in love with her, but be was interested in the affair. ” Don't you know ? ” he asked.

She understood from his manner that she had been some kind of an issue in the quarrel. ” No,” she answered, hastily. ” I don't.”

”Oh, I don't mean that,” said Peter. ”I only meant --I only meant--oh, well, it was nothing-really.”