Professor James Harkner Wallis is not an Irishman; he is an American.
Though he has carried on some very important investigations, he is the discoverer of neither the rings of Saturn nor the Milky Way.
Very truly yours,
Howard D.
Phelps.
"It's from Professor Phelps—what can he mean?" said the Twin, in bewilderment.
"Oh, Patty," groaned Priscilla, "you don't mean to say that you actually believed all that stuff?"
"Of course I believed it.
How could I know she was lying?"
"She wasn't lying.
Don't use such reckless language."
"I'd like to know what you call it, then?" said Patty, angrily.
"Local color, my dear, just local color.
The worm will turn, you know."
"Why didn't you tell me?" wailed Patty.
"Never supposed for a moment you believed her.
Thought you were joking all the time."
"What's the matter, Patty?
What have you done?" the others demanded, divided between a pardonable feeling of curiosity and a sense that they ought to retire before this domestic tragedy.
"Oh, tell them," said Patty, bitterly. "Tell every one you see.
Shout it from the dome of the observatory.
You might as well; it'll be all over college in a couple of hours."
Priscilla explained, and as she explained the funny side began to strike her.
By the time she had finished they were all—except Patty—reduced to hysterics.
"The poor editor," gurgled Priscilla. "He's always after a scoop, and he's certainly got one this time."
"Where is it, Patty—the paper?" gasped Bonnie.
"I threw it away," said Patty, sulkily.
Priscilla rummaged it out of the waste-basket, and the four bent over it delightedly.
Ireland's eminent astronomer spending a few weeks in America lecturing at the principal colleges—His famous discovery of the rings of Saturn made during a balloon ascension three thousand feet in the air—Though this is his first visit to the States, he speaks with only a slight brogue—Loyal son of old Erin
"Patty, Patty!
And you, of all people, to be so gullible!"
"Professor James Harkner Wallis's parents will be writing to Prexy next to say that their son can't lecture here any more if he is to be subjected to this sort of thing."
"It's disgusting!" said Bonnie Connaught, feelingly.
"When you've got through laughing, I wish you'd tell me what to do."
"Tell Professor Phelps it was a slip of the pen."
"A slip of the pen to the extent of half a column is good," said the Twin.
"I think you girls are beastly to laugh when I am probably being expelled this minute."
"Faculty meeting doesn't come till four," said Bonnie.
Patty sat down by the desk and buried her head in her arms.
"Patty," said Priscilla, "you aren't crying, are you?"
"No," said Patty, savagely; "I'm thinking."
"You will never think of anything that will explain that."
Patty looked up with the air of one who has received an inspiration. "I'm going to tell him the truth."
"Don't do anything so rash," pleaded the Twin.
"That is, of course, the only thing you can do," said Priscilla. "Sit down and write him a note, and I'll promise not to laugh till you get through."
Patty stood up. "I think," she said, "I'll go and see him."
"Oh, no.
Write him a note.
It's loads easier."
"No," said Patty, with dignity; "I think I owe him a personal explanation.