And the examination only five days away!
As he reviewed the situation Catherwood's brow darkened and he scowled. For a space he twiddled his large thumbs and glared at a horse hitched to a grocery wagon across the street.
"I wish you'd freeze," he muttered viciously to the horse; but of course the horse did not hear for the window was down.
Catherwood counted his flunks on his fingers. Five; five clean, perfect flunks, altogether, he recalled. Not so bad, he considered; that is, not so very bad.
But there before him like a great monster with dripping jaws and green, slimy body, was the examination; and it was creeping, creeping upon him with the passage of the minutes.
He stood up and shook himself nervously.
From the window he saw the assistant professor approaching his home next door. He carried several bulky volumes in his arms, hugged to his breast lovingly.
Catherwood watched him sourly.
There was the man, he mused, in whose hands—now covered with gray-striped woolen mittens—lay his fate! Pretty serious business—one's fate lying in hands covered with gray-striped woolen mittens.