The young man lowered his head a trifle and peered at her over the rims of his glasses. He pursed his mouth and wrinkled one cheek, studying her as a naturalist might scrutinize some interesting, but not altogether comprehensible, bug. Evidently he could not make up his mind as to her classification.
“I fancy it will be found so,” he said.
“May I ask your name?”
He fumbled in an inner pocket and continued to fumble until it became an exploration. He produced numerous articles and laid them methodically upon the railing—a fountain pen, dripping slightly, half a dozen letters, a large harmonica, a pocket edition of Plato’s Republic, a notebook, several pencils, and a single glove. He stared at the glove with recognition and nodded to it meaningly, as much as to say: “Ah, there you are again.... Hiding as usual.” At last he extracted a leather wallet and from the wallet produced a card which he extended toward Carmel.
Before she read it she had a feeling there would be numerous letters upon it, and she was not disappointed. It said:
Evan Bartholomew Pell, A.B., Ph.D., LL.D., A.M.
“Ah!” said Carmel.
“Yes,” said the young man with some complacency.
“And your letter.”
“I am,” he said, “or, more correctly, I was, superintendent of schools in this village. There are, as you know, three schools only one of which gives instruction in the so-called high-school branches.”