Beauty and the Beast greeted us. H. Logan's daughter might be a chippie off the old blockhead, but they look as much alike as me and my passport picture. She smiled at us as we entered, and life was all sugar and Santa Claus. Our pal the prexy lurched and wobbled in the depths of his swivel-chair, gave it up as a bad job, motioned us to seats and hrrumphed!
"Well, Blakeson, might I interrogate as to the reason for this unexpected visitation?"
"If," I deciphered, "you mean why am I here, sure! This is an unveiling. Take off your polysyllables, Doctor. You're in the presence of genius."
"Genius?" MacDowell stared distastefully at Hank's mail-order suit and bulldog shoes. "Genius?"
"When you say that," I advised, "grovel. You see before you, Doc, a man deserving of the finest faculty position dear old M. U. has to offer. Meet Hank Cleaver, the human slide rule!"
MacDowell frowned. "I deplore, Blakeson, your unacademic speech habits. Furthermore, you are undoubtedly aware that there are at present no unoccupied seats on the Midland faculty. If your friend would care to deposit his credentials with my secretary, however, and write an application for admittance to our staff—"
Horse-sense Hank's eyes accused mine. "Write, Jim? Shucks, you didn't tell me I had to write nothin'. You know I can't write."
Indignation overcame Prexy MacDowell's inertia. He came to his feet quivering like a radium finder in a bucket full of pitchblende.
"What! Blakeson, do you mean to tell me you have the effrontery to suggest for addition to our faculty a man who can neither read nor write? Young man, this time you have gone too far! I fail to recognize the humor in this situation. I'll have you—"