Catherwood caught his breath with a little spasm of the throat.
"Far be it from me to be the cause of such a misstep." The president spoke less rapidly now. "Too, you have brains. This—ah—your recent exploit is proof of that. Such ingenuity properly directed might work great good for not only you, but—ah—the country at large. Mr. Catherwood,"—every word was voiced with a cutting precision—"my genuine interest in you prompts me to give you your credit in this course; but——"
Catherwood started in his chair. The face he turned to the president was aglow; the eyes alight.
"But," the speaker emphasized—"I am not permitted to do this, Mr. Catherwood. Had you taken that examination you might—mind you I say 'might'—have passed. Again you might not. There would have been, you see, an element of chance. Mr. Catherwood, we shall let Chance hold the scales this morning."
The young man looked up wonderingly.
"I don't understand, sir," he said, weakly.
In his hand the president held two envelopes.
"Mr. Catherwood," he said, "you see these envelopes? Yes. Well, in one of them—I do not know which one—is a credit-slip; in the other is a condition. The envelopes are sealed."
He held them out to the limp creature at the end of the desk.
"Choose," he commanded.