Page:The Post-Mortem Murder by Sinclair Lewis.djvu/14

14 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE I 'd thought you were almost indiffer- ent to him/' "1— " It flared out, that sound. She went on compactly: "Let J s not talk about it, please. Now tell me, did n't you think they made a mistake at the symphony — " I had a not at all pleasant confer- ence with the dean before I took my train for Melanchthon, Nebraska, I had a plan. This was toward the end of the academic year 1919-20. I would pretend to be a chap who, after working in offices, that sort of thing, desired to begin graduate work in Eng- lish, but had first to make up for the courses he had forgotten since college. I wanted the celebrated Dr. Whitney Edgerton to tutor me. I would lure him into boarding me at his house; a young professor like Edgerton would be able to use the money. Once dwell- ing there, it would be easy enough to search his study, to find what histories or letters had furnished his secret knowledge of Jason. I adopted as nom de guerre the name Smith. That was, perhaps, rather in- genious, since it is a common name, and therefore unlikely to arouse at- tention. It was all reasonable, and should have been easy. But when, in Melanchthon, I was directed to Edgerton's house, I per- ceived that, instead of being a poor devil, he was uncomfortably rich. His was a monstrous Georgian house, all white columns and dormers and iron window-railings and brick terrace and formal gardens. Reluctantly, I gained entrance, and addressed my- self to Edgerton , He was a square-built, pompous, rimless-eye-glassed, youngish man. His study was luxurious, with velvet curtains at the windows, with a vast desk, with built-in cases containing books I yearned to possess; a vast apartment, all white and tender blue, against which my two patchy rooms in Hendrik Hall seemed beggary. I had expected to have to conceal hatred, but instead I was embarrassed. Yet by the gods it was I, the shabby scholar, who had created Jason, and this silken, sulky dilettante who with- out reason had stabbed him! While I peeped about, I was telling Edgerton, perhaps less deftly than I had planned, of my desire to be tutored* He answered: "You 're very complimentary, I 'm sure, but I 'm afraid it 's impossible. I '11 recommend you to some one — By the way, what was your college?" Heaven knows how it popped into my head, but I recalled an obscure and provincial school, Titus College, of which I knew nothing. He lightened. "Oh, really? Did you know I had my first instructorship in Titus? Have n't had any news from there for years. How is President Dolson, and Mrs. Siebel? Oh, and how is dear old Cassaworthy?" May the trustees of Titus College forgive me! I had President Dolson sick of a fever, and Cassaworthy — professor, janitor, village undertaker, or whatever he was — taking to golf. As for Mrs. Siebel, she *d given me a cup of tea only a few months ago. Edgerton seemed astonished. I have often wondered whether Mrs. Siebel would actually be mostilikely to serve tea, gin, or vitriol. Edgerton got rid of me. He amiably kicked me out. He smiled, gave me the name of a "suitable tutor," mes- merized me toward the door, and did not invite me to return. I sat on a