“As I told Miss Walton yesterday,” I explained, “a man’s true and eventual reputation depends, not on what the world thinks of him, but on what his fellow-craft decide.”
“Well?”
“There is scarcely an author or editor at the Philomathean who is not opposed to your election, Mr. Whitely.”
“You have been telling tales,” he muttered angrily.
“You should know better.”
“Then what have they against me?”
“Any man who works with his pen learns that no one can write either editorials or books, of the kind credited to you, without years of training. The most embarrassing ordeal I have to undergo is the joking and questioning with which the fraternity tease me. But you need never fear my not keeping faith.”
“Yet you won’t help me into the Philomathean?”
“No.”
“So you’ll make money out of me, but think your club too good?”