Younger, and--may I say ?--more energetic men would fill your places and carry on your work.

You would hardly be missed." Andrew rolled up his thesis blandly, and strode into the next room to await the committee's decision.

It cannot be said that he felt the slightest uneasiness.
The president followed, shutting the door behind him.
"You have just two minutes," he said.
Andrew could not understand it.
His hat was crushed on to his head, his coat flung at him; he was pushed out at a window, squeezed through a grating and tumbled into a passage.
"What is the matter ?" he asked, as the president dragged him down a back street.
The president pointed to the window they had just left.
Half a dozen infuriated men were climbing from it in pursuit.

Their faces, drunk with rage, awoke Andrew to a sense of his danger.
"They were drawing lots for you when I left the room," said the president.
"But what have I done ?" gasped Andrew.
"They didn't like your thesis.

At least, they make that their excuse." "Excuse ?" "Yes; it was really your neck that did it." By this time they were in a cab, rattling into Gray's Inn Road.
"They are a poor lot," said Andrew fiercely, "if they couldn't keep their heads over my neck." "They are only human," retorted the president.