than when she came in. She was staring hard at the portrait and now beckoned him wildly to do the same. "Look at it! Look at it!"
Surprised, he followed the direction of her shaking hand. "Sure, it's Professor Grid to the life!" he said admiringly.
"Look at it! Look at it!" She seemed not to be able to find any other words.
After a prolonged scrutiny he turned to her with a puzzled line between his eyebrows. "Since you've spoken of it, ma am, I will say that there's a something about the expression of the eyes ... and mouth, maybe ... that ain't just the professor. He was more absent-like. It reminds me of somebody else ... of some face I've seen ..."
She hung on his answer, her mild, timid old face drawn like a mask of tragedy. "Who? Who?" she prompted him.
For a time he could not remember, staring at the new portrait and scratching his head. Then it came to him suddenly: "Why, sure, I ought to ha known without thinkin', seeing the other picture as often as every time I've swep' out the president's office. And Professor Grid always looked like him some, anyhow."
The old woman leaned against the wall, her crutch trembling in her hand. Her eyes questioned him mutely.
"Why, ma am, who but his own father, to be sure ... the old Governor."
II
While they had been duly sensible of the luster reflected upon them by the celebration in honor of their distin-
