One cool September afternoon as he was returning from his plunge, Professor Jarvis paused among the pines at a little distance from the house. A large black automobile was drawn up before the front steps. The spacious piazza, on which his wife was in the habit of serving afternoon tea—a conveniently situated piazza which gave upon the sea, and not upon Professor Jarvis—was unoccupied. The professor hesitated, his teeth clashing against one another, and the goose-flesh creeping out on his dripping arms. The conclusion was obvious: his wife was receiving guests in the living-room. She had evidently decided that the piazza would be a trifle too breezy for tea.
Now Professor Jarvis, even in a bathing-suit, was not an unbeautiful figure. He had fallen into the vale of fifty years with more grace than the average human being, thanks to golf and to bathing. He did not display to any alarming extent the inevitable tendencies of age. He was, in fact, rather proud of the restraint which his waist-line had exercised. Now he did not hesitate long among the pines, but advanced daintily over some sharp twigs to the front door. The chauffeur, sprawling at ease in the black car and reading “Mutt and Jeff” in the colored comic section of a Sunday supplement, smiled out of the leeward side of his mouth. But the professor regarded him not, haughtily passed him by, and boldly entered the house. His gray hair stood on end in scant wisps, the goose-flesh adorned his limbs, the water dripped from his Roman nose and trickled from his abbreviated trousers, and he left several little wet footprints on the ivy-clad front porch.
Once inside the house, the professor paused timidly in the hallway. Before him stood two doors. One was the entrance to the dining-room; the other led into the capacious living-room. The stairs were beyond, at the extreme back of the hall. Through the open doors of the living-room issued the sound of voices. Professor Jarvis recognized his wife’s and Mrs. Heath’s and—no, he was not quite sure about the other one. The conversation within continued.
The professor realized that it would be impossible to pass the living-room door without exposing himself to the curious view of the ladies within.
He could, however, reach and enter the dining-room unobserved. He stood a while in thought.
“I find a plain brown stain gives the best wear,” said the doubtful voice in very positive tones. “I find nothing compares with it.”
The professor recognized the voice. It was Mrs. Bannerman’s. He was afraid of Mrs. Bannerman. She was a very positive person, and it was her manner to speak with such evident authority that whenever she held forth the professor began to have his doubts even on Venezuelan questions.
He shivered as he heard her now.
But his wife’s voice reassured him. “I’ve forgotten what our mixture is,” she said. “The farmer always does our shellacking. But you’ll be able to tell if you come out and look at the hall floor. It’s given us splendid wear.”