A Hoosier Chronicle | Page 6

And when he had finished and the applause
ceased, he glanced about with an air of surprise and said: "Thank you,
young gentlemen; it pleases me to find you so enthusiastic in your
pursuit of knowledge. Learn the stars and you won't get lost in strange
waters. As we were saying--" It was because of still other stories which
he never told or referred to, but which are written in the nation's history,
that the students loved him; and it was for this that they gave him at
every opportunity their lustiest cheer.
The professor found the stranger Sylvia had announced waiting for him
at the cottage. The young man did not mention his own name but drew
from his pocket a sealed letter.
"Is this Professor Andrew Kelton? I am to give you this letter and wait
for an answer."
Professor Kelton sat down at his desk and slit the envelope. The letter
covered only one page and he read slowly to the end. He then re-read
the whole carefully, and placed the sheet on his desk and laid a weight
upon it before he faced the messenger. He passed his hand across his

forehead, stroked his beard, and said, speaking slowly,--
"You were to bring this letter and bear back an answer to the writer, but
you were instructed not to discuss it in any way or disclose the name or
the residence of the person who sent you. So much I learn from the
letter itself."
"Yes, sir. I know nothing of the contents of the letter. I was told to
deliver it and to carry back the answer."
"Very good, sir. You have fulfilled your mission. Please note carefully
what I say. The reply is No. There must be no mistake about that,--do
you understand?"
"I am to report that you answered 'No'."
"That is correct, sir," replied Professor Kelton quietly. The young man
rose, and the Professor followed him to the door.
"I thank you for your trouble; it has been a warm day, the warmest of
the season. Good-afternoon, sir."
He watched the young fellow's prompt exit through the gate in the
hedge to the Lane and then returned to the library, where he re-read the
letter. Now that he was alone he relaxed somewhat; his manner
expressed mingled trepidation and curiosity. The letter was
type-written and was neither dated nor signed. He carried it to the
window and held it against the sunlight, but there was not even a
watermark by which it might be traced. Nor was there anything in the
few straightforward sentences that proved suggestive. The letter ran:--
Your granddaughter has reached an age at which her maintenance and
education require serious consideration. A friend who cannot be known
in the matter wishes to provide a sum of money to be held and
expended by you for her benefit. No obligations of any sort will be
incurred by you in accepting this offer. It is hardly conceivable that you
will decline it, though it is quite optional with you to do so. It will not,
however, be repeated.

Kindly designate by a verbal "Yes" or "No" to the bearer whether you
accept or decline. The messenger is a stranger to the person making the
offer and the contents of this communication are unknown to him. If
you wish to avail yourself of this gift, the amount will be paid in cash
immediately, and it is suggested that you refrain from mentioning the
matter to your granddaughter in any way.
Professor Kelton had given his answer to the messenger unhesitatingly,
and the trouble reflected in his dark eyes was not due, we may assume,
to any regret for his negative reply, but to the jangling of old, harsh
chords of memory. He crossed and recrossed the room, lost in reverie;
then paused at his desk and tore the letter once across with the evident
intention of destroying it; but he hesitated, changed his mind, and
carried it to his bedroom. There he took from a closet shelf a battered
tin box marked "A. Kelton, U.S.N." which contained his commissions
in the Navy. He sat down on the bed, folded the letter the long way of
the sheet and indorsed it in pencil: "Declined." Then he slipped it under
the faded tape that bound the official papers together, and locked and
replaced the box.
Sylvia meanwhile had found the review article noted on her
grandfather's memorandum, and leaving a receipt with the librarian
started home with the book under her arm. Halfway across the campus
she met her grandfather's caller, hurrying townward. He lifted his hat,
and Sylvia paused a moment to ask if he had found her grandfather.
"Yes; thank you. My business didn't take much time, you see. I'm sorry
I put