Chapter 10 XToC

Professor Ladue was rather more out of sorts with the world in general than was usual on such occasions. He was very much out of sorts with the world in general and with three of its inhabitants in particular: with his wife, because he was unable, for reasons which Fox had made clear to him in a very short time, to wreak his ill temper upon her; with Fox, because he had succeeded so well in making those reasons clear; and with Doctor Galen, because he was sure that the doctor was attending Mrs. Ladue.

Perhaps I should have said that the professor was out of sorts with four persons in particular. The fourth person was Sally. It is hard to see why he should have been put out with her, who had done nothing to deserve it. But she was good and dutiful and she saw through him clearly enough; and by so doing she kindled in him a feeling of helpless resentment.

Of course, we know very well that the professor's behavior was, itself, the real cause of his feeling. The professor knew that well enough. He was not dull-witted, whatever else he was. And, because he knew it, he raged; and, because there was no outlet for his rage, he raged the more, coldly. Those cold rages of his fairly scared Sally, and she was not easily scared.

His rage was not any the less because of a letter that Sally brought up to him, late in the afternoon. She had shrunk from seeing him, but the letter was from the college, bearing the university arms in the corner, and it was for special delivery. So Sally thought that it might be very important. There was no one else to take it to her father, so she took it, and, in obedience to his brief command, and with great inward relief, she tucked it under his door.

The letter was important, although not in the way that Sally had surmised. It was from the provost of the university of which the professor's college was a part, written with the venerable provost's own hand and apparently in some haste. It stated that Mr. Ladue had, that very day, been seen, by the provost and by one other member of the governing body, to issue from a well-known gambling-house. That fact, coupled with the rumors which had persisted for a year or two past, made it imperative that Mr. Ladue should appear before the Board of Governors, at their next meeting, to clear himself; or, if he preferred, Mr. Ladue might send in his resignation at once, such resignation to take effect at the close of the college year.

That was all. One would think that it was quite enough. Professor Ladue looked up from his brief reading.

"Ah!" he cried airily. "The honorable provost addresses me as Mr. Ladue. Mr. Ladue. And so I am to appear before the Board of Governors for the purpose of clearing myself-of what? I am accused of coming out of a house. After all, it is a very quiet, respectable-looking house, indeed, in a quiet street, rubbing elbows with other quiet, respectable-looking houses. Does it happen that the honorable provost and that other member of the governing body have seen more than the outside of that house? Do I appear before the Board of Governors? I do not. And do I send in my resignation like a good little boy? I think not. The honorable provost is a fool. I will write him a letter and tell him so."

So saying, the professor-we may call him the professor for almost the last time-the professor went to his desk and wrote the letter. He was in just the mood to write such a letter and it is to be remembered that he dealt naturally in caustics. Consequently, the letter was an excellent letter; it was exactly what it was meant to be. It was a model of its kind. There is little doubt that it was a poor kind and that it was very unwise to send it. Having been written, it should have been burned-utterly destroyed. It would have served its purpose better. But the professor was in no mood to do what was merely wise. He was pleased with the letter, proud of it. He was so pleased with it that he read it over three times. Then he laughed and signed it.

"That will, perhaps, make them sit up. It would give me some pleasure to be present when he reads it." The professor gazed out into the great tree, musing pleasantly. "No, it can't be done. It is a matter of regret that it cannot."

He sealed the letter and went out, at once, to mail it. He was quite cheerful as he took his hat and his stick from the rack in the hall; so cheerful that Charlie, who happened to catch sight of him, was encouraged to hail him. He answered pleasantly, even buoyantly, so that Sally was sure that she had been right and that the letter which she had carried up had been important.

The cheerfulness of the professor was spurious, but, such as it was, it lasted, unimpaired, until the letter was posted. The mail was just going out, and the postmaster, obliging as postmasters invariably are, held it long enough to slip in the letter to the provost. The professor saw it go; then doubts began to assail him, and his cheerfulness ebbed. He stood irresolute until he heard the train. It was useless to stand irresolute longer. It is always useless to stand irresolute for any length of time whatever. The professor knew that very well. With a quick compression of the lips, he turned homeward. He was no longer cheerful.

No doubt I was wrong in speaking of him as the professor that last time. He was, henceforth, to be Mr. Ladue. His professorial career had been cut off by that letter to the provost as cleanly and as suddenly as by a sharp axe. That would be true of any college. Mr. Ladue did not deceive himself about that. There was a need of adjustment to the new conditions, and he set himself the task of thinking out just what the new conditions were. He was so busy with his thinking that he nearly ran into a young man. The young man had just issued from Mr. Ladue's own gate. But was it his gate? Mr. Ladue happened to have got to that very matter. There seemed to be a reasonable doubt of it; indeed, as he progressed farther in his thinking-out process and his recollection emerged from the fog of habit, there seemed to be no doubt that it was not his gate at all and that he had been allowed to think of it as his and to call it his, purely on sufferance.

For he remembered, with a shock, a thoughtless moment, a moment of inadvertence,-a moment of insanity,-in which he had made over the place to his wife, Sarah. He had got into the habit of forgetting all about it. Now it was necessary that he should get out of that habit. He had never regretted that act more keenly than at that moment. It was the act of a madman, he told himself impatiently.

As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, the aforesaid young man had gone on his way. If he was to speak, he must speak quickly.

He turned. "Oh, Fox," he said casually, "I am afraid I was rather abrupt a short time ago. Pray accept my apologies."

It was a new r?le for Mr. Ladue. It cost him something to assume it, but it was necessary to his purposes that he should. This was one of the new conditions which must be faced. It was an opportunity which must be seized before it ceased to be. For Fox it was a totally new experience to receive an apology from a man like Mr. Ladue. The experience was so new that he blushed with embarrassment and stammered.

"Oh,-er-that's all right. Certainly. Don't apologize." He managed to pull himself together, knowing that what he had said was not the right thing at all. "And, Professor," he added, "shall we resume our studies when Mrs. Ladue is better?-when she will not be disturbed?"

Fox did not know as much about Mr. Ladue's affairs as we know, or he might not have called him by that title. But yet he might.

"To be sure," answered Mr. Ladue, apparently in surprise; "why not? Is she in a condition to be disturbed by such little matters? I had rather expected to see her, to talk over an important question." If Fox chose to infer that the important question related to certain delinquencies of his own, why, let him think so.

"I am afraid that will be impossible for some time," Fox replied firmly. "Dr. Galen left instructions that she is, on no account, to be disturbed. She is not to be compelled to think. It seems to be important. His instructions were explicit and emphatic on that point."

"Ah," Mr. Ladue remarked calmly. "So Dr. Galen is running my house."

"Yes." There was no lack of firmness in Fox's voice, although he was not flushing now. "Dr. Galen is running your house. That is the situation exactly."

"And may I ask," Mr. Ladue inquired coldly,-"may I venture to ask how it happens that a specialist-one of the most expensive in the city-is in such a position that he can assume to do so?"

"Certainly you may. I will try to make it clear that it was necessary, but it will not alter the situation if I fail. Immediately after your leaving for town, Mrs. Ladue had one of her attacks. It seemed to Sally-and to me-essential that she should have expert advice at once. So-in your absence-I sent for Dr. Galen. I am very glad that I did."

"Do you know what his price will be?"

"I do not. What difference does it make? Mrs. Ladue's life may depend upon her having the best advice there is to be had."

Mr. Ladue did not answer immediately. He could not well say to Fox that that was a matter of less importance to himself than the price that would be charged. Besides, he was not sure that it mattered to him what Dr. Galen charged. He had no intention of paying it. They ought to have known that they could not saddle him with their bills without his consent. Further than that--

"It's all right, of course, Fox," said Mr. Ladue pleasantly, looking up. "I didn't realize that Mrs. Ladue's condition was serious. Thank you. Come in as soon as you think it advisable and we will continue our studies. Good-night."

"Good-night." Fox turned away with a curious mingling of feeling toward Mr. Ladue. He could not help feeling grateful to him, yet he did not trust him. What next?

That was precisely the question Mr. Ladue was asking himself as he walked slowly toward the house. What next? It was most unfortunate that he could not see his wife, most unfortunate. If he could have the chance to talk to his wife, Sarah, now, he thought he could persuade her. Give him but five minutes and he was sure he could persuade her. He would do better to have the papers ready. He wondered whether he dared; and, for an instant, he entertained the idea of having that talk, in spite of Fox and of Dr. Galen. He thought upon it.

"No," he said to himself, "it wouldn't do, under the circumstances. It wouldn't do. We'll have to give that up."

Mr. Ladue deserved no credit for deciding to give that up. It is to be feared that the possibility of evil consequences to his wife, Sarah, played no part in forcing him to that decision. The important thing is that he did so decide. In the short time that remained before dinner, he walked to and fro in his room, thinking hard. He could do that very well when he applied himself to it. At dinner he was unexpectedly pleasant, giving Sally a sense of security that was not at all justified by the event. In that, no doubt, he was doing just what he intended.

That evening, having devoted a certain brief time to thinking to some purpose, he packed his bag and wrote a short note to his wife. It is immaterial what he said in that note, but he ended it with these words: "So you may keep your place, madam, and much good may it do you. In fact, I think that you will have to keep it. You could not give a good deed or a good mortgage without my signature." It seemed an entirely uncalled-for evidence of his ill humor. What had Mrs. Ladue done to deserve it?

In the morning he came to breakfast as usual, and again he was very pleasant. Indeed, he was so pleasant that the fact excited Sally's suspicions. He was not usually so pleasant on the morning after. And when he had gone to his customary train-carrying a bag, Sally noted-she found his note, sealed, and addressed, in her father's well-known scrawling hand, to her mother. She took possession of the note. Of only one thing was she sure and that was that no note written by her father-and sealed-was going to be delivered to her mother; at least, not without advice.

Later she showed the note to Fox; and he, being as uncertain what ought to be done as Sally was, showed it to Dr. Galen. They three decided, much against their will, to see what Mr. Ladue had said.

"For," Dr. Galen observed, "Mrs. Ladue is not in condition to read a note of any kind. She will not be in that condition for a week, at least. It seems to me, Sally, that you should know what your father says, especially in view of the circumstances. I advise you to open it."

"You do it," said Sally.

So the doctor did it. "Of course," he remarked, as he slid the blade of his knife under the flap, "if, on glancing at it, I see that it is improper for me to read, I shall not read it. But if, as I fear-"

He was reading it. "The cur!" he muttered, as he finished. He handed it to Fox. "You read it, Mr. Sanderson."

Fox read it and chuckled. "I ought not to laugh," he explained, "but it is so-so futile. Delivery to Mrs. Ladue seems out of the question. And, Sally," he went on, "you shall see this if you want to, but I wish that you would not want to. Your father has gone, apparently."

"Yes," said Sally, somewhat puzzled, "I know it; to the university?"

"Not to the university, I think. He seems to have lit out. He says something about getting another position suited to him. He says some other things that it would give you only pain to read."

Sally's face expressed a curious mingling of anxiety and relief. "I won't read it if you don't want me to," she said. "But-but what-how shall we get any money?"

"Don't you worry about that. We'll manage to raise a few cents when we need to."

Fox had said "we" and that seemed to comfort Sally. Fox turned to the doctor.

"The environment has taken care of itself," he remarked; and the doctor smiled.

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