"Ah, yes. But, Mr. Catherwood, there is that beside our zeal to which we must listen. There is our conscience."
Catherwood shifted uneasily.
"Consult your conscience, Mr. Catherwood. Shall I tell you what it whispers? Very well. It bids you ask for a condition—a condition, Mr. Catherwood."
"Give it me, doctor; give it me."
The suddenness, the eagerness of the request caused the president to raise his eyebrows. The pale ghost of a smile lingered an instant about his lips.
He held out a restraining hand.
"Just a moment, Mr. Catherwood," he said. "There is another point of view. Mine."
Catherwood had sunk back into his previous attitude of dejection.
"I may state it briefly," the president continued. "My interest in the proper conduct of this University, Mr. Catherwood, bids me give you a condition in the course to which we—ah—have referred. But—and I say this frankly—my interest in you, my boy, bids me hesitate. You are young. Your whole life is before you. A misstep now might mean the ruin of that life."