Catherwood did not look up as he spoke.
The president leaned back and passed his hand across his forehead.
"Ah, yes; I think I understand, Mr. Catherwood—you—you—perhaps fear the blame may be placed where it should not—a fine sense of justice; Mr. Catherwood—a very fine sense of justice—I congratulate you upon it, sir."
Catherwood glanced up now, moved to a sort of secret impatience by what he assumed to be a note of sarcasm in the president's voice.
But the face his eyes encountered was most kindly.
His eyes fell again.
The president took up the envelope opener and placed the steel point to his lips.
"Mr. Catherwood," he began, and hesitated.
"Yes, sir."
"Of course you know," he went on, "that since my return the facts in your case have been placed before me by certain members of the faculty who are familiar with them."