"Why, what the book is meant to be." His laughter subsided again and he sat gazing thoughtfully at the publisher. "Unless it means," he wound up, "that I've over-shot the mark."
"If I am the mark, you certainly have," said Harviss, with a glance at the clock.
The Professor caught the glance and interpreted it. "The book is a skit," he said, rising.
The other stared. "A skit? It's not serious, you mean?"
"Not to me—but it seems you've taken it so."
"You never told me—" began the publisher in a ruffled tone.
"No, I never told you," said the Professor.
Harviss sat staring at the manuscript between them. "I don't pretend to be up in such recondite forms of humour," he said, still stiffly. "Of course you address yourself to a very small class of readers."
"Oh, infinitely small," admitted the Professor, extending his hand toward the manuscript.
Harviss appeared to be pursuing his own train of thought. "That is," he continued, "if you insist on an ironical interpretation."