Spring had begun to give hints of waking green, when _The Brief Visit_
was issued from the press. I rushed to procure a copy before it was
bound. I was surprised and dumbfounded to find that the Master had used
the poem without my name attached ... just as if it, with the rest of
the book, was from his own pen.
My first impulse was to rush into the dining hall, at breakfast, Waving
the sheets, and calling "John" to account for his theft, before
everybody ... then I bethought myself that, perhaps, some mistake had
been made ... that the proofreader might have left my name out.
Spalton looked up quickly as I passed by his table. He read in my face
that I had already discovered what he had done. He blushed. I nodded him
a stiff greeting. I ate in silence--at the furthest table.
In a few minutes he did me an honour he had never shown me before. He
came over to where I sat. "Razorre," he invited, "how would you like to
take a hike with me into the country, this morning?"
I gave him a swift glance. "I would like it very much."
"Then as soon as you are through, meet me in the library."
I drank a second cup of coffee with studied deliberation--in spite of
myself, I was thrilled with the notice that had been shown me before all
the others. Already my anger had somewhat lessened.
* * * * *
Never had the master been so eloquent, so much his better self, since
that first day, at the wood-pile.
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