“That little affair, as you call it, was an attempt to murder me.”
“Nonsense!” said the professor, but he did not appear quite at his ease. “You had better not make such a ridiculous charge. No one will believe it.”
“You may be mistaken in that, Professor Puffer.”
“When does Mr. Cunningham propose to travel?”
“You had better apply to him. I do not feel at liberty to spread his plans.”
Professor Puffer felt exceedingly mortified and annoyed. Here was a situation which he had applied for and been refused actually given to a mere boy against whom he felt a grudge—his own ward, as he chose to consider him.
“I won’t let him keep the place,” said Puffer, shutting his lips firmly. “I will tear him away from this fool of a Cunningham—and when I get him once more into my grasp, I will revenge myself upon him. He won’t find it so easy to get away from me again.” Half an hour passed. The professor maintained his place, looking grim and angry. Bernard handed him the morning issue of the London Times, but he seemed busy with his own reflections, and scarcely glanced at it.
Finally a light step was heard at the door, and Mr. Cunningham entered the room. He looked from the professor to Bernard, and a smile formed upon his face. He guessed what had occurred.
“Professor Puffer, I believe?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” answered the professor. “May I ask you if you have considered my application?”