The Revealing Pattern

He was a man easily smiled at; a little birdlike individual carrying an umbrella and wearing upon his pink face a look remindful of happy secrets about to be revealed. He came to my desk during the midafternoon lull and said, I am Professor Jonathan Waits. I have come to avail myself of your facilities.
I had never heard it put quite that way before, but from Professor Waits, it did not sound stilted. It was the way you would expect him to put it. He beamed at the ceiling and said, What a fine old library, my dear. I must bring Nicholas some time.
I gave him the smile reserved financial supporters and unknown quantatives and asked, Could I be of service?
He didn't get to it immediately. I understand this library is fairly crammed with old records—data on the historical aspects of this area. Personal histories and such.
He had a way of radiating his own cheerful mood. Oh yes, I assured him. It's an exceptional day when we don't sweep a D.A.R. or two out of the aisles come closing time.
This, according to his laugh, was quite good. He said, I'm sure we'll get on splendidly, Miss—?
—Hopstead.
Are you a native?
A New Englander from way back, I assured him. Some of my ancestors used to drink buttered rum with Captain Rogers.
Then possibly you'd like to know about my work.
I certainly would. And, strangely enough, I did.
I am a researcher into the—well, the unusual.