“What? I beg your pardon.”
“To forget, to attain callousness, to cease to feel. There are many formulas tried, many.”
“I fear I fail to understand.”
“Doubtless. I don’t understand myself. I was simply rambling. Pardon me.”
Over the horn nose-glasses Mr. Gleason scrutinized the face of the younger man intently.
“Certainly. For what, though, I admit I’m mystified.” He glanced away perfunctorily. “Everything is running normally, I suppose, in your department?” 149
“Yes, about as usual, I guess, practically so.”
“Better than usual according to Dean Sanford,” cheerfully. “He’s inclined to brag a little this year, justifiedly, too, one must admit from the attendance.”
“Yes, the attendance is excellent—among the students. Among the faculty—did the dean seem inclined to brag any on the faculty?”
“No; he only talked a few moments.” Mr. Gleason produced the big timepiece again hastily. “Nine o’clock. I wonder what can be keeping Elice,” he fidgeted.