HERBERT GOLD
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"A little calm, Professor Gold, a little respect. Penelope comes of an
excellent, generous family."
He seemed to be dislodged slightly by my denials, but here was an
additional complication. The young woman's parents were socially
prominent and wealthy trustees (or perhaps the word was regents) of the
University. They demanded an explanation.
"You mean they want a gallon of my blood?"
"Professor Gold, if you are innocent, as you claim, they may be per–
suaded to accept less."
I rejected the vision of vampires generously nibbling at my neck -
this was not a problem of metaphor. I was about to be fired, cast out in
a cloud which would follow me forever. Even if I were innocent, Char–
lie Provost suggested, why did I have to be innocent of sexual perversions
which no healthy person practiced? I demanded a meeting with the girl
and her parents.
"Exactly what we had in mind," said the Provost. "The reports of
the private detective have been strangely inconclusive."
"They hired one?"
"Yes, of course."
"I wasn't warned?"
"No. Although I believe one of your colleagues was asked ... "
Try
a Hungariall r£jugee or fwo
... " I didn't even know what the
devil he was talking about!"
"I suppose it was embarrassing for him, not trained in abnormal be–
havior - "
"Let's talk straight, Charlie. The private dicks couldn't find anything,
but since they thought they knew, and they were hired to prove it - "
"Well, they did speak with some of her friends. They claimed it was
productive. I think we had better try to have a meeting."
Innocence thundered at him in a vocabulary which was mild, meek,
and non-tenured. "Try. I'd like a meeting as soon as possible."
"Tomorrow," he said. "They have chartered a plane to fly up from
Southampton. "
We met in the office of the Provost. An indignant baldish, fattish
man with an indignant fattish but not baldish wife, overdressed for steam
heat, as were we all, seemed to be my fantasy step-inlaws. Their heads
looked like ticking pink bombs, waiting to go off when I tripped the
wire. I stared at them on a couch opposite the Latin inscription on the
diploma - was it for University Administration? - above the Provost's
desk. Charles seemed slimmer this morning, smiling, urgently friendly and
facilitating. Perhaps he started thin and swelled up with all the hot air he
ingested during a day's work. For some reason my curiosity about the
girl,
my acrobatic partner, held itself in abeyance, as if by some will to
