Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-06-22
A FRESH PROFESSOR

I was an undergraduate and he was q
don of Exham college, Oxford We both
bore the same name - Unwin-Jones.
Why Dame Fate should have gifted two
such antitheses with similar names, why
she should have brought us to one and
the same college is inscrutable. lido not
upbraid. I thank her from the bottom
of my heart. forget the frayed shirts,
"dickeys" and antediluvian collars of
Don Jones that the laundress fathered on
me- do not regret my wines, but not
the bills therefor, that went to his cellar
instead Of to my humble cupboard. !
forgive the torn envelopes in ladies'
hands marked mot for Professor Jones"
everything, and why?
1t was a sunny afternoon in the merry
month Of May as I returned at O'Clock,
in flannels and a blazer, from an hours
tagging at the cricket nets, and tripped
up the stairs Of my "digs," that over
looked the dear old college gardens,
whistling "Oh, Phyllis Mine!" burst
open the door, and -" Are visions
about?" came the lightning thought, as
I saw, seated in the armchair by my
window, gazing out on the glories Of the
horse chestnuts opposite, one Of the-no!
the wide Subsequent events )-most
charming little girls I have ever seen!
By the side of the armchair was lee
ture note book, and what I knew only
too well toebe Herr Crammer's "Latin
Prose-" She rose, bowed deferentially,
and somewhat nervously began: "Oh,
Professor Jones, am so sorry am late!
Mr.. Boothby Of Galnaliel said he hadn't
time to look over my prose, and asked
me to bring it to you at A :45, and said,
as you sometimes took his work, you
would correct it for me. F"
saw it all, or rather I saw nothing
but her-slim, petite, with stray strands
Of nut brown hair peeping from beneath
a dainty straw hat trimmed with mar
guerites The porter had directed her to
my rooms instead Of to those of the pro-
lessor Il gave him a sovereign at the end
of term). One more to the long list Of
mistaken Identities, but worth them all
Should I undeceive her? And I thought
Of the dryasdust Jones. He was the sea
monster, was Perseus, and she was
Andromeda. IA thousand times no,
said my heart. I shall be professor
for 30 minutes! With all Of him I could
muster, and re-enforced by my gold rim
med ninca neZ-
"Ah-er-let me see, what-or-is
your name?"
"Ethel Mayner," said Ethel-red, for
the rosy hue had mounted to her cheek,
as it did to Virgil's Venus, "I'm-I'm
one of Mr.. Boothby's extension pu-
pills."
''Of course, " said and looked pro-
fessorially at a card picked up, "here's
your name.
It was a card of the XL's summer
term fixtures Inwardly vowed it
would be more extension" than "lec-
ture." But did she think was pro-
fessor? Could she not see my chin, in
nocent Of razor-the galaxy Of London
actresses on my mantelpiece, the hunt
ing. sketches, my bat on the table, the
siphons cheek by jowl with McTavish's
"best?" Did professors play banjos and
whistle ooh, Phyllis Mine" as they
bounded up to unravel the mysteries Of
"Oratio Obliqua" with fair pupils? I
stifled surmise and lived only in the
present and the sunshine of-Ethel. She
resumed her seat, and I rang the bell
Up came the landlady.
Bring up tea for two, Mrs. Grabbs, 3"
said, land send out for the best cake
Boffins have in the show-I-er-mean
the premises"
"Oh, professor" she interposed,
''please don t trouble about tea for me- "
Madam" rejoined, i've cannot
discuss the position Of Cesar in winter
quarters or that plebeian bricklayer
Balbus without some light refreshment.
Come, let us commence. Bring your
chair up to the table" (Oh, how brutal
Of me-! And would have carried it
miles for her dear sake, but ! was
professor. And she drew her chair so
close to mine that I could almost
"Page a." I grunted, with a beating
heart, for I knew that the sentences
were plain sailing till about page 30.
"Oh, no." she said, Tim at page
21o"
My heart sank, at least such Of it as
was not in my mouth. How could q
twice plowed fresher essay the snares
and nitfal1a If raoe 91Op
"The passage begins" she contin-
ued, The rotation Of crops and ends
at rustic simplicity. !"
It was hopeless She, Ethel-well-read,
was an "Honors'' candidate, and I, the
unread-y, nothing but manufacturer
Of "howlers" and classical faux pas
"Er-er, ah-let me see, err
! gasped, and her deep brown eyes,
with look Of incipient perplexity, met
mine. Her hands were toying with the
handle Of my bat Would it had been
mel
II used the word rotatio, she said.
II hope it's not too doggy"
"Oh, no." I sighed, cts an excel
lent word-used by Bohn, I believed"
How could any word she used b
wrong? thought only Of the miserable
| Don Jones' from whom had saved hsg.