He busied himself again with the papers.
"Those," he said, shuffling rapidly a body of over forty and suddenly tearing them across, "that 's trash; principally lunatics. I can tell 'em by the hand."
Higginson gazed on helplessly; he thought such destruction imprudent, but he said nothing.
"These," went on Babcock, groaning with intelligent interest, and licking his forefinger to deal with the papers, "these are refusals."
He turned leaf after leaf as though he were counting Bank Notes, and decided upon the lot.
"Yes; all refusals."
"May I look?" said Professor Higginson a little weakly.
"Yes, if you like," said Babcock, throwing over the pile without looking up, and turning to the next.
The Professor discovered that his colleague was right enough. They were invitations all of them, and not invitations to accept. Over a third were from money-lenders. He made a plaintive appeal to keep certain of these last, whose gorgeous crests, ancient names, and scented paper fascinated him. Babcock merely grunted and said, putting his hand upon another much smaller pile—
