"And I couldn't hardly sleep, I was so anxious to see what that old idiot of a prof. would think of it. I might have known, handing it in to an old rake of a man!"
Emily let her go on unreproved.
"And it was the funniest thing! I just happened to find out what he meant. You hand your work in, mammie, and then you go and have a consultation with the prof. about it. Well, I'd never had any old consultation before. And everybody says he is a horrid man; to women, especially. He don't think women can write novels, of course. He thinks it's his business to discourage them. I was scared out of my wits to go and talk to him about my novel, to tell the truth. I might have known something was wrong, for he was as nice to me as you please. He was surprised to see me when I came in. He didn't know me from Adam, before, of course. I suppose he thought I'd be foaming at the mouth, or something. He jollied me along, the oily old rake; said my work was interesting and everything; that I'd put a lot of work in on it. And then he said: 'You know sometimes we think it well—to refer these themes to other departments. The last one before you,' he said, all smooth and gentle, 'I referred to the biologist under whom the student works. And I had yours read by Doctor Parson, Doctor Edith Parson; she is more able than I am—to judge of the worth of this material,' he said. 'So I had her read it over, and I suggest you go and consult her first, and then come and talk it over with me.' All hemming and hawing, he was, the flea. So I swallowed it all. I didn't know any better. I knew they did send theses and things for grad. degrees around to a lot of profs. I asked somebody there waiting to see him, a girl from the class, who this Doctor Parson was, but she didn't know. So then, mammie, I went home. This was a week ago last Thursday. I was in Doctor Stevenson's living room that evening, and I naturally asked her if she knew who Doctor Parson was. I didn't tell her WHY I was asking, or anything. And, mammie, what do you think she said!"
Tears came flooding into Martha's eyes.
"What difference does it make what she said, child!"
"Well, it may not make any difference to YOU, but it did to ME. 'I know her,' she said, and she smiled sort of funny. So I said, 'Who is she?' And she said, 'Oh, every little while some crazy woman gets into the U, and Doctor Parson is the one that gets them into the asylum. I had to help her once, one summer. She called me in because I was near and strong.'" And suddenly Martha turned away, shuddering in uncontrollable repulsion. She covered her face with her hands, just for a second, and went on:
"I had to sit there, mammie, not saying a word to give myself away, and take it all. She said that woman—the one that went crazy—she wanted to go right out in the street without any clothes on, and everything. I thought she'd never get through talking. They had to have three policemen that night. I thought I'd just die, I was so scared. And I got away from her as soon as I could, and I got the novel and went right down to the janitor and asked him to let me put something into the furnace. So he did, and I saw it burning. I saw it all curling up burned. And then I went and stayed with Miss Curtis. She let me have a bed in her room; she was just sweet to me, mammie. I told her I was sick. She wanted me to go home; she said I needed a rest."
"Martha, you do need a rest, my dear. You've worked so steadily. Why don't you come home with me?"
"Mammie—no. I went and got a job. I had—to have something—else to think about. I couldn't go home; I couldn't bear to go back to the doctor's. I stayed with Miss Curtis for more than a week."
"And now? Where are you now?"