The initiate raised his hands slowly and untied the bandage. He blinked a moment at Smith, then he said huskily, "I am not Haviland, Mr. Smith, nor do I want any 'feed.' I want to know what this means." There was no anger in his voice, only great weariness.
The freezing truth dawned on the horrified student. His first impulse was to rush out of the house and to keep running. He managed to stammer:
"Where's Haviland?"
"I don't know where Haviland is," muttered the tired instructor. "I don't know who Haviland is. If I have taken his place I am ready to change again." He looked down upon his clothes, stuccoed with tarweed burrs and wet mud.
Then Jack Smith laughed aloud.
"Professor, when we've found Haviland, and you've seen him, you'll understand the whole horrible mistake, and——"
"There was no mistake," said the other, coldly, "you called me Professor while you were beating me."
This only set Smith off again.
"That's our name for Haviland. You see he looks like you—oh, I can't explain it to you, Professor; but when you've seen the man you'll forgive us, I know you will. And you've simply got to stay to our feed now, if we have to tie you up again to keep you here."