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“I have seen no reason for raising his salary–and there you have the explanation. In revenge he has made this attack. But he overshot his mark. In causing us temporary embarrassment he has brought about his own downfall. I have already asked for his resignation.”

Every day in the week Hallowell was a fair, sane man, but on this particular day he was wounded, his spirit was hurt, his self-esteem humiliated. He was in a state of mind to believe anything rather than that his son was an idiot.

“I don’t want the man discharged,” he protested, “just because Peter is lazy. But if Doctor Gilman was moved by personal considerations, if he sacrificed my Peter in order to get even….”

“That,” exclaimed Black in a horrified whisper, “is exactly what he did! Your generosity to the college is well known. You are recognized all over America as its patron. And he believed that when I refused him an increase in salary it was really you who refused it–and he struck at you through your son. Everybody thinks so. The college is on fire with indignation. And look at the mark he gave Peter! Five! That in itself shows the malice. Five is not a mark, it is an insult! No one, certainly not your brilliant son–look how brilliantly he managed the glee-club and foot-ball tour–is stupid enough to deserve five. No, Doctor Gilman went too far. And he has been justly punished!”

What Hallowell senior was willing to believe of what the chancellor told him, and his opinion of the matter as expressed to Peter, differed materially.

“They tell me,” he concluded, “that in the fall they will give you another examination, and if you pass then, you will get your degree. No one will know you’ve got it. They’ll slip it to you out of the side-door like a cold potato to a tramp. The only thing people will know is that when your classmates stood up and got their parchments–the thing they’d been working for four years, the only reason for their going to college at all–YOU were not among those present. That’s your fault; but if you don’t get your degree next fall that will be my fault. I’ve supported you through college and you’ve failed to deliver the goods. Now you deliver them next fall, or you can support yourself.”

“That will be all right,” said Peter humbly; “I’ll pass next fall.”

“I’m going to make sure of that,” said Hallowell senior. “To-morrow you will take those history books that you did not open, especially Gilman’s ‘Rise and Fall,’ which it seems you have not even purchased, and you will travel for the entire summer with a private tutor….”

Peter, who had personally conducted the foot-ball and base-ball teams over half of the Middle States and daily bullied and browbeat them, protested with indignation. “WON’T travel with a private tutor!”

“If I say so,” returned Hallowell senior grimly, “you’ll travel with a governess and a trained nurse, and wear a strait jacket. And you’ll continue to wear it until you can recite the history of Turkey backward. And in order that you may know it backward–and forward you will spend this summer in Turkey–in Constantinople–until I send you permission to come home.”

“Constantinople!” yelled Peter. “In August! Are you serious?”

“Do I look it?” asked Peter’s father. He did.

“In Constantinople,” explained Mr. Hallowell senior, “there will be nothing to distract you from your studies, and in spite of yourself every minute you will be imbibing history and local color.”

“I’ll be imbibing fever,”, returned Peter, “and sunstroke and sudden death. If you want to get rid of me, why don’t you send me to the island where they sent Dreyfus? It’s quicker. You don’t have to go to Turkey to study about Turkey.”

“You do!” said his father.

Peter did not wait for the festivities of commencement week. All day he hid in his room, packing his belongings or giving them away to the members of his class, who came to tell him what a rotten shame it was, and to bid him good-by. They loved Peter for himself alone, and at losing him were loyally enraged. They sired publicly to express their sentiments, and to that end they planned a mock trial of the “Rise and Fall,” at which a packed jury would sentence it to cremation. They planned also to hang Doctor Gilman in effigy. The effigy with a rope round its neck was even then awaiting mob violence. It was complete to the silver-white beard and the gold spectacles. But Peter squashed both demonstrations. He did not know Doctor Gilman had been forced to resign, but he protested that the horse-play of his friends would make him appear a bad loser. “It would look, boys,” he said, “as though I couldn’t take my medicine. Looks like kicking against the umpire’s decision. Old Gilman fought fair. He gave me just what was coming to me. I think a darn sight more of him than do of that bunch of boot-lickers that had the colossal nerve to pretend I scored fifty!”