"But I did not learn anything from him."
Wehlau frowned, and said, reprovingly, "Hans, it is very unbecoming so to criticise a worthy man of science. His delivery, to be sure, leaves much to be desired, but his treatises are admirable."
"Good heavens, I am not speaking of the Herr Professor's treatises, but of my own, and they were unfortunately far from admirable. I felt that myself, and accordingly I made a slight change in my course of study."
"Against my express directions. I laid out your course precisely for you. To whom did you go, then?"
Hans hesitated to reply, and glanced towards the window where his 'reserves' were stationed, before he said, in a rather constrained voice, "To--to Professor Walter."
"Walter? Who is he? I do not know the name."
"Oh, papa, you surely must have heard of Friedrich Walter. He has a world-wide reputation as an artist."
"As a what?" the Professor asked, not crediting his ears.
"As an artist, and that was the reason why I wanted to go to B----. Master Walter lives there, and did me the honour of receiving me into his atelier. In fact, I have not applied myself to the study of natural science; I have become a painter!"
It was out at last. Wehlau sprang to his feet, and stared speechless at his son.