The Professors House
door? I didn’t observe any other way of getting
in.’ They never get wise, do they? He really
went out to see Marsellus’ place—seemed interested. Doctor, are you going to let them call that
place after Tom?”
“My dear boy, how can I prevent it?”
“Well, you surely don’t like the idea, do you?”
The Professor lit another cigarette and was a long while about it. When he had got it going, he turned on his elbow and looked at McGregor. “Scott, you must see that I can’t make suggestions to Louie. He’s perfectly consistent. He’s a great deal more generous and public-spirited than I am, and my preferences would be enigmatical to him. I can’t, either, very gracefully express myself to you about his affairs.”
“I get you. Sorry he riles me so. I always say it shan’t occur the next time, but it does.” Scott took out his pipe and lay silent for a time, looking at the gold glow burning on the water and on the wings of the gulls as they flew by. His expression was wistful, rather mournful. He was a good-looking fellow, with sunburned blond hair, splendid teeth, attractive eyes that usually frowned a little unless he was laughing outright, a small, prettily cut mouth, restless at the corners. There was something moody and discontented about his face. The Professor had a great deal of sympathy for him; Scott was too good for his work. He had
—72—
