“What—­you don’t mean to say you’ve been doing something in our line?”

The Professor smiled.  “You publish scientific books sometimes, don’t you?”

The publisher’s optimistic creases relaxed a little.  “H’m—­it all depends—­I’m afraid you’re a little too scientific for us.  We have a big sale for scientific breakfast foods, but not for the concentrated essences.  In your case, of course, I should be delighted to stretch a point; but in your own interest I ought to tell you that perhaps one of the educational houses would do you better.”

The Professor leaned back, still smiling luxuriously.

“Well, look it over—­I rather think you’ll take it.”

“Oh, we’ll take it, as I say; but the terms might not—­”

“No matter about the terms—­”

The publisher threw his head back with a laugh.  “I had no idea that science was so profitable; we find our popular novelists are the hardest hands at a bargain.”

“Science is disinterested,” the Professor corrected him.  “And I have a fancy to have you publish this thing.”

“That’s immensely good of you, my dear fellow.  Of course your name goes with a certain public—­and I rather like the originality of our bringing out a work so out of our line.  I daresay it may boom us both.”  His creases deepened at the thought, and he shone encouragingly on the Professor’s leave-taking.

Within a fortnight, a line from Harviss recalled the Professor to town.  He had been looking forward with immense zest to this second meeting; Harviss’s college roar was in his tympanum, and he pictured himself following up the protracted chuckle which would follow his friend’s progress through the manuscript.  He was proud of the adroitness with which he had kept his secret from Harviss, had maintained to the last the pretense of a serious work, in order to give the keener edge to his reader’s enjoyment.  Not since under-graduate days had the Professor tasted such a draught of pure fun as his anticipations now poured for him.

This time his card brought instant admission.  He was bowed into the office like a successful novelist, and Harviss grasped him with both hands.

“Well—­do you mean to take it?” he asked, with a lingering coquetry.

“Take it?  Take it, my dear fellow?  It’s in press already—­you’ll excuse my not waiting to consult you?  There will be no difficulty about terms, I assure you, and we had barely time to catch the autumn market.  My dear Linyard, why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sank to a reproachful solemnity, and he pushed forward his own arm-chair.

The Professor dropped into it with a chuckle.  “And miss the joy of letting you find out?”

“Well—­it was a joy.”  Harviss held out a box of his best cigars.  “I don’t know when I’ve had a bigger sensation.  It was so deucedly unexpected—­and, my dear fellow, you’ve brought it so exactly to the right shop.”