A RARE INTERVIEW

Instantly Will Phelps was overwhelmed with confusion.  His face flushed crimson and his knees shook under the excitement which quickly seized upon him.  The opprobrious title by which the Greek professor was known among the students and by which he was commonly spoken of by them had slipped from his tongue almost unconsciously.  He stood staring stupidly into the professor’s face, while visions of expulsion and future difficulty flashed into his troubled mind.

“I beg your pardon, professor,” he managed to ejaculate at last.  “I did not mean to say that.  The word slipped out before I knew it.  I am very sorry for it, for I certainly did not intend to be disrespectful in any way.”

“You insulted me!” exclaimed the professor in a rage that under other circumstances would have seemed almost ludicrous to Will.  It was like the anger of an infuriated canary bird or of some little child.

“Then I want to apologize,” said Will quietly.  “As I said, I certainly did not intend to do anything of the kind.”

“But you did,” persisted the outraged teacher.  “You most assuredly did.”

“Can’t you believe me when I say it was not intentional?”

“That does not excuse it, but I fawncy the tendency among the young gentlemen of the college is to bestow appellations upon the various members of the faculty that are not warranted.”

“I have heard some of them spoken of in that way, but I don’t think the fellows meant either to be disrespectful or unkind,” said Will eagerly.

“No, I fawncy it may in part be due to the thoughtlessness of youth and I would not be unduly harsh with you after your ample apology.  Then you have been accustomed to hear me myself referred to as Splinter, have you?”

“I—­yes—­that is—­” stammered Will.

“Precisely.  Now what in your opinion is the basis upon which the students have added such a derisive epithet to my name?”

Will was silent, though in spite of his efforts the expression of his face betrayed somewhat the feeling of blank amazement which possessed him.

“I fawncy I can trace its derivation,” said the professor simply.  “Doubtless when I first became a member of the faculty the appellation, or, let me see, is it an appellation or a cognomen, as you commonly have heard it?”

“Yes, sir,” Will managed to respond.

“It is, then, as I fawncied, and doubtless was bestowed upon me as indicative of my lack of avoirdupois.  And it was not entirely unnatural that they should do so, for at the time when I came to Winthrop I was very slight, very slight indeed.  The appellation, or cognomen, was without doubt given in recognition of that fact, a custom not unknown, among the classical nations and one prevalent among the Hebrews and even among the Indians of America.  The history of names would provide an exceedingly interesting field of study for you, Mr. Phelps.”