"He looks like a pirate from the Barbary coast—San Francisco," Knowlton went on, "and when he's full he acts like one. I've rented the bedroom that opens into this study for him. You can share the sitting room and work here evenings on your chemical problems. Also you will be able to keep an eye on him. The first time he comes home pickled, you let me know."
This cool way of supplying me with a roommate staggered me.
"Do you wish me to cable your father to authorize this arrangement?" said Knowlton, with his unerring skill in tracing the course of my thoughts.
"Not if you honestly tell me it is for the good of the business, and not because you want to tie me down."
"Well," he puffed, looking at his cigarette, "I'm frank enough to say it's a mixture of both. We need this man in our business and some one has got to look after him. It's two birds with one barrel."
"It's very inconvenient for me," I objected. "I like to read and experiment with my literary work in the evenings."
"The world is often an inconvenient place," moralized Knowlton. "It might be inconvenient for several of us if old Prospero gets to hitting the booze."
"Prospero?" I enquired, surprised by Knowlton's sudden excursion into literature.
"That's the best name I know for him. I learned a piece about him in school once, something about cloud-capped palaces leaving a wreck behind them, or words to that effect. I have a hunch that if you steer old Prospero right, he'll bring one of those cloud-capped palaces down to earth. The only thing that worries me is the danger of the wreck behind. Shakespeare certainly knew human nature all right. He was a wise boy."
Knowlton achieved his carefully planned purpose of disarming me. I laughed and even began to feel most curious concerning Prospero.