Page:The Professor's House - Willa Cather.pdf/73



T was an intense September noon—warm, windy, golden, with the smell of ripe grapes and drying vines in the air, and the lake rolling blue on the horizon. Scott McGregor, going into the west corner of the university campus, caught sight of Mrs. St. Peter, just ahead of him, walking in the same direction. He ran and caught up with her.

“Hello, Lillian! Going in to see the Professor? So am I. I want him to go swimming with me— I’m cutting work. Shall we drop in and hear the end of his lecture, or sit down here on a bench in the sun ?”

“We can go quietly to the door and listen. If it’s not interesting, we can come back and sit down for a chat.”

“Good! I came early to overhear a bit. This is the hour he’s with his seniors, isn’t it?”

They entered and went along the hall until they came to number 17; the door was ajar, and at the moment one of the students was speaking. When he finished, they heard the Professor reply to him.

“No, Miller, I don’t myself think much of science as a phase of human development. It has