Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 17.djvu/53

RV 51 (THE NOTICEABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR CHADD) with the flat sole of his boot. The professor dropped his bent leg, and, swinging his weight on it, kicked out the other behind, like a man swimming. Basil crossed his feet like a saltier cross, and then flung them apart again, giving a leap into the air. Then, before any of the spectators could say a word or even entertain a thought about the matter, both of them were dancing a sort of jig or hornpipe opposite each other; and the sun shone down on two madmen instead of one.

They were so stricken with the deafness and blindness of monomania that they did not see the eldest Miss Chadd come out feverishly into the garden with gestures of entreaty, a gentleman following her. Professor Chadd was in the wildest posture of a pas de quatre. Basil Grant seemed about to turn a cartwheel, when they were frozen in their follies by the steely voice of Adelaide Chadd saying, "Mr. Bingham of the British Museum."

Mr. Bingham was a slim, well-clad gentleman with a pointed and slightly effeminate gray beard, unimpeachable gloves, and formal but agreeable manners. He was the type of the overcivilized, as Professor Chadd was of the uncivilized pedant. His formality and agreeableness did him some credit under the circumstances. He had a vast experience of books and a considerable experience of the more dilettante fashionable salons. But neither branch of knowledge had accustomed him to the spectacle of two gray-haired middle-class gentlemen in modern costume throwing themselves about like acrobats, as a substitute for an after-dinner nap.

The professor continued his antics with perfect placidity, but Grant stopped abruptly. The doctor had reappeared on the scene, and his shiny black eyes, under his shiny black hat, moved restlessly from one of them to the other.

"Dr. Colman," said Basil, turning to him, "will you entertain Professor Chadd again for a little while? I am sure that he needs you. Mr. Bingham, might I have the pleasure of a few moments' private conversation? My name is Grant."

Mr. Bingham of the British Museum bowed in a manner that was respectful but a trifle bewildered.

"Miss Chadd will excuse me," continued Basil, easily, "if I know my way about the house." And he led the dazed librarian rapidly through the back door into the parlor.

"Mr. Bingham," said Basil, setting a chair for him, "I imagine that Miss Chadd has told you of this distressing occurrence."

"She has, Mr. Grant," said Bingham, looking at the table with a sort of compassionate nervousness. "I am more pained than I can say by this dreadful calamity. It seems quite heart-rending that the thing should have happened just as we have decided to give your eminent friend a position which falls far short of his merits. As it is, of course—really, I don't know what to say. Professor Chadd may, of course, retain—I sincerely trust he will—his extraordinarily valuable intellect. But I am afraid—I am really