Dineen was a queer little chap. He roomed de luxe at the Bellman House.
One night, during a cyclone that swept the town and the adjacent country, a fragment of roof was lifted off the hostelry in which he dwelt. The women-servants and waitresses were thrown into a panic. One, who collapsed on a lounge in the upstairs hall, swore that Dineen had felt of her leg as she lay there. A scandal was started. I know that Dineen, in his European fashion, was free with his hands, when he meant no harm. He had merely laid his hand on the girl's leg, in friendly fashion, and asked if she was hurt.
But the nasty Puritan mind of the community went to work, and the story was hawked about that Professor Dineen, taking advantage of the cyclone, had tried to "feel the girl up."
This, and the fact that he had been a friend of mine (after my forthcoming scandal it counted strongly against him) later effected in his being requested to resign from the faculty.
But the real cause of the brilliant, strange man's persecution was the jealousy of the dean of the philosophical department of the former's real ability.
"We must do more for this man than we have ... he is a genius ... he has not enough money to return to Europe on....
"He has written a curious, mad play called Iistral ... one dealing with psychic phenomena, which we ought to put on....
"That way we'll net him three or four hundred dollars."