man may be observed by thousands and will be forgotten in a day, but any appearance of scandalous behavior in a decent citizen will get itself bruited about indefinitely. The good repute of Professor Burke was caught in this process, by an almost expectable chance. On the evening of his visit with Double-O
Sanders, two undergraduates had been dancing in the patio of the Bombay Royale Hotel.
As they came through the lobby to summon their car and start home, they saw two persons emerge from an elevator.
The girl undergraduate said, "Why--there's Professor Burke--and a babe! Who would have imagined such a thing?" Naturally, they hung back a little and thus observed the good-night kiss tendered to the professor by the" young lady.
By evening of the day following, the story had progressed through a considerable portion of the student body.
Because of it, Miss Marigold Macey was listless the next morning at breakfast.
Her mother noticed it as she quietly engineered the juice squeezer, the toaster, the percolator and the waffle griddle. Her brother noticed it vaguely as he studied the brief of a law case. And her father finally became aware of it as he perused the paper. It annoyed him.
"What in hell," he enquired, "is the matter with you?"
"Matter?" Marigold temporized.
"Nibbling at your waffle! Rolling toast crumbs!"
"Jizzling," her brother added, without looking up.
"Well," Marigold said, "I'm in love."
Both men now looked at her. Both said, "Again!"
"This time," the girl said morosely, "it's different."
"It's different every time," her mother murmured.
The judge glanced sharply at his wife--was caught doing it--and winked. His wife winked back.
"How different?" asked her brother, skeptically.
"He's older, Steve. I feel maternalish about him--and scary. And then. . . ." she rolled crumbs.
"Then what?" her father asked.
Marigold spoke petulantly. "Don't cross-question me! Ye gods! When your father's a judge and your brother's a lawyer, a girl lives practically in the witness box!"
"You brought the matter up," Steve said.
"I did not!"
"Rolling crumbs and jizzling. Perjorative behavior."
"He goes around with Other Women," Marigold said slowly. "He was seen a few nights ago--necking one."
Judge Macey folded the paper neatly. "Marigold," he said, "did you ever hear of quid pro quo? I mean to say--what in the devil were you doing with that Stratton boy on the porch the other night? And the long list of his predecessors? Studying the nocturnal habits of the glowworm?"
Her mother saved her from answering. "Who is he?"
"Martin Burke."
The two men looked blankly at each other. Mrs. Macey explained. "He's one of her professors. Now, Simon! Contain yourself! I met him last year at a drainage meeting." She saw she had to explain that, too. "Everglades-draining problems. He's quite young--for a full professor. He's extremely attractive, too--although he doesn't seem to realize it. His manners are simply dazzling. And he comes from New England."
The judge said, "Really?" He looked at his daughter with interest.
"Bring him around," said Stephen. "Both ways."
Her father nodded. "This is the first time I ever heard you worrying about what you somewhat hypocritically call 'other women.' It must be serious, by gad!"
Mrs. Macey smiled at a waffle. "With Professor Burke, I would imagine that pretty much everything is serious."
"It is not!" Marigold spoke with heat. "Do you call publicly necking a Miami Beach blonde, serious? And that's just one thing! Professor Burke only acts stuffy and superpolite. Actually--he's an authority on crime. He's been right in the midst of gang wars. He knows personally half the big shots in the underworld. He's two distinct personalities--and it's terribly fascinating."
"Nonsense," said her father. "A professor?"
"Drag him over here," Steve repeated.
"I've tried," she said.
Her brother snorted. "Lookie, cookie. If you try--he'll come. I don't know what
Sanders, two undergraduates had been dancing in the patio of the Bombay Royale Hotel.
As they came through the lobby to summon their car and start home, they saw two persons emerge from an elevator.
The girl undergraduate said, "Why--there's Professor Burke--and a babe! Who would have imagined such a thing?" Naturally, they hung back a little and thus observed the good-night kiss tendered to the professor by the" young lady.
By evening of the day following, the story had progressed through a considerable portion of the student body.
Because of it, Miss Marigold Macey was listless the next morning at breakfast.
Her mother noticed it as she quietly engineered the juice squeezer, the toaster, the percolator and the waffle griddle. Her brother noticed it vaguely as he studied the brief of a law case. And her father finally became aware of it as he perused the paper. It annoyed him.
"What in hell," he enquired, "is the matter with you?"
"Matter?" Marigold temporized.
"Nibbling at your waffle! Rolling toast crumbs!"
"Jizzling," her brother added, without looking up.
"Well," Marigold said, "I'm in love."
Both men now looked at her. Both said, "Again!"
"This time," the girl said morosely, "it's different."
"It's different every time," her mother murmured.
The judge glanced sharply at his wife--was caught doing it--and winked. His wife winked back.
"How different?" asked her brother, skeptically.
"He's older, Steve. I feel maternalish about him--and scary. And then. . . ." she rolled crumbs.
"Then what?" her father asked.
Marigold spoke petulantly. "Don't cross-question me! Ye gods! When your father's a judge and your brother's a lawyer, a girl lives practically in the witness box!"
"You brought the matter up," Steve said.
"I did not!"
"Rolling crumbs and jizzling. Perjorative behavior."
"He goes around with Other Women," Marigold said slowly. "He was seen a few nights ago--necking one."
Judge Macey folded the paper neatly. "Marigold," he said, "did you ever hear of quid pro quo? I mean to say--what in the devil were you doing with that Stratton boy on the porch the other night? And the long list of his predecessors? Studying the nocturnal habits of the glowworm?"
Her mother saved her from answering. "Who is he?"
"Martin Burke."
The two men looked blankly at each other. Mrs. Macey explained. "He's one of her professors. Now, Simon! Contain yourself! I met him last year at a drainage meeting." She saw she had to explain that, too. "Everglades-draining problems. He's quite young--for a full professor. He's extremely attractive, too--although he doesn't seem to realize it. His manners are simply dazzling. And he comes from New England."
The judge said, "Really?" He looked at his daughter with interest.
"Bring him around," said Stephen. "Both ways."
Her father nodded. "This is the first time I ever heard you worrying about what you somewhat hypocritically call 'other women.' It must be serious, by gad!"
Mrs. Macey smiled at a waffle. "With Professor Burke, I would imagine that pretty much everything is serious."
"It is not!" Marigold spoke with heat. "Do you call publicly necking a Miami Beach blonde, serious? And that's just one thing! Professor Burke only acts stuffy and superpolite. Actually--he's an authority on crime. He's been right in the midst of gang wars. He knows personally half the big shots in the underworld. He's two distinct personalities--and it's terribly fascinating."
"Nonsense," said her father. "A professor?"
"Drag him over here," Steve repeated.
"I've tried," she said.
Her brother snorted. "Lookie, cookie. If you try--he'll come. I don't know what
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