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CHAPTER VIII.
In which Professor Higginson gets those sweets by the wagon-load, and also hears how Men are Made.
Professor Higginson stared at the pile of letters. He remembered that it was a Saturday—a free day! He groaned at such freedom.
Fame is like the trumpet she bears. The trumpet has for the civilian an exhilarating sound; for the house near barracks, too familiar with it, a mechanical one; for the mounted trooper at reveillée it has nothing but a hideous blare.
Fame had come to Professor Higginson under her less pleasing aspect. He marvelled that so much fame had already risen. He trembled at what The Howl might now raise. A paltry lapse of memory! A thing that might happen to anyone! And now all this!
Professor Higginson had under-estimated his position in the scientific world of guess-work.
