He could not compose his features into
anything like a decently amiable expression, but went about with a
bitter smile upon his lips. Every time some new aspect of his
grotesque and humiliating mistake occurred to him he suffered a
nervous twinge. That afternoon a card was brought to him bearing
the ornate inscription in a beautiful Spencerian hand:
PROFESSOR JESUS HERARA THE HERARA COLLEGE OF BUSINESS
Reconciling himself as best he could to the prospect of an
interview with some importunate stranger, he grudgingly consented
to have the visitor brought in. Professor Herara was not alone. He
was accompanied by a very short, very fat man, whose smooth skin
had the rich, dark coloring of a nice, oily Cuban cigar.
"Senor Anthony, it is?" inquired the Professor, bowing
ceremoniously.
"That's my name."
"It is my privilege to consult you upon a business of importance."
"I'm afraid you have the wrong party. I don't care to learn
shorthand."
"Ah, no, it is not concerning my academy. Allow me to present
Senor Luis Torres."
Kirk felt the room begin to revolve slowly.
"My friend does not possess a card at the moment, eh?" continued
the Professor.
The little, rotund man bowed, his hand-polished, mahogany features
widening in a smile.
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