“Not exactly.”
“Well, I don’t want you to be jeered at by the public. I want you to preserve your dignity as much as you can. I dare say your book will not actually have much practical effect on teaching, since it was written rather as a semi-philosophical treatise. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes.”
“But at the same time, Mauney, having written it, you will see how illogical your appearance on a history staff becomes.”
Enmeshed in Freeman’s subtle argument, with its pretence of deferential consideration, Mauney burned with sudden indignation.
“There’s just one solution,” he said rising, and now facing the professor frankly. “I’ve put my foot in it. I’ve criticized the university. I’ve committed the unpardonable sin and must abide by the consequences. I reiterate, without any bluff, sir, that I have suffered from the dampening influence which kills youthful enthusiasm. I’ve dared to believe in what I might term a bright human future. I’ve dared to contradict and defy the cold, pessimistic viewpoint to which I have been exposed. Many a boy comes to college full of ardent belief in the fundamental goodness of things, but few are strong enough to wade through the marsh of brilliant tutoring which believes in nothing. I have been strong enough to wade through, Professor, and I am strong enough now to offer you, most respectfully, my resignation from your staff.”
Mauney started toward the door.
“A moment, please,” said Freeman, turning in his chair. “I think your resignation is the most logical thing you could give me, because, otherwise, your own position—”
“Please, Professor,” he interrupted, “don’t let us befog the situation. You wanted my resignation. You have it, sir. And let me assure you that I hold no personal spite. On the contrary I appreciate to the very limit your many kindnesses to me. There is nothing personal, Dr. Freeman, in all this. It’s principle, and I regret that even a principle should separate us. Was there anything further, sir?”