In dress and manner he looked as spruce and busy as the
sales manager of a shoe factory.
"Delighted to see you, gentlemen," he said, shaking hands
effusively. "We are always pleased to see our old graduates,
Mr. Samson--No, I beg pardon, Mr. Sims--class of '97, I
see--No, I beg your pardon, Class of '67, I read it
wrongly--"
I heard Mr. Sims murmuring something that seemed to
contain the words "a look around."
"Yes, yes, exactly," said the President. "A look round,
you'll find a great deal to interest you in looking about
the place, I'm sure, Mr. Samson, great changes. I'm
extremely sorry I can't offer to take you round myself,"
here he snapped a gold watch open and shut, "the truth
is I have to catch the twelve-thirty to New York--so
sorry."
Then he shook our hands again, very warmly.
In another moment we were outside the door. The get-away
was accomplished.
We walked out of the building and towards the avenue.
As we passed the portals of the Arts Building, a noisy,
rackety crowd of boys--evidently, to our eyes, schoolboys
--came out, jostling and shouting. They swarmed past us,
accidentally, no doubt, body-checking Mr. Sims, whose
straw hat was knocked off and rolled on the sidewalk.
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