free hands the bottom left-hand corner of the cheque form, and he traced, Professor Higginson traced, he traced lightly and carefully with the pencil, he traced with cunning, with care, and with skill the "J"—and the "o"—and the "h"—and the "n," and the capital "B"—and the "r"—and the "a"—and the "s"—and all the rest of the business!
The Good Angels flew in despair to their own abode, leaving for the moment the luckless race of men. The Bad Ones, as I believe, crowded the room to suffocation; but to use mere mortal terms, Professor Higginson was alone with his wicked deed.
It was too late to retrace his steps. He had hardened his heart. With a series of ungainly hops, aided by the edge of the table, he regained the inkpot and the pen, and covered with a perfection surely unnatural the pencil tracing he had made. Professor Higginson had forged!
It would all come right. There was the "clearing" … and the thing called "stopping a cheque," and anyhow—damn it, or rather dash it, a man was of no use for a good cause until he was free. …. Yes, he had done right. He must be free first.. … Free, in spite of the bonds which cut
