03 The Life and Work of Professor Roy Millen - Part 1

03 The Life and Work of Professor Roy Millen - Part 1

Professor Roy Millen had loved his wife devotedly, and now she was dead…. He made his plans to go abroad, to England, to work in the libraries there, as he and his wife had planned. It was what she should have him do, he told himself. And the book would be a kind of monument to her. He would dedicate the book to her. As he walked slowly back from the campus to his house in the late afternoons or early evenings of spring, he would try to compose the dedication, saying the words aloud to himself as he looked up at the paling, peach-colored sky beyond the newly leafed branches. He had decided to sail in June, as soon as he could leave after commencement.

“I hear you’re going away for a year, Professor Millen,” Tom Howell said, standing respectfully before Professor Millen’s office desk. Then he added, in a dutiful tone, “To work on your book.”

“Yes,” Professor Millen said, “to work on my book.” Then, as though recollecting himself, he made a little gesture toward the chair in front of the desk, and said, “Won’t you have a seat, Howell?”

“Are you going to finish it in a year?” Howell asked, and sat down.

“I still have a little research to do. I have to settle a few points—points which can’t be settled in libraries in this country. I have to do some work yet in one of the great English libraries.” Professor Millen paused, looking over the green lawn outside his office window. “But I’ll get it written within the year. Practically everything is in order. Though, of course,” he paused, again looking at Tom Howell, who listened respectfully and with what seemed interest, “I’ll have to do a good deal of retouching—style and so on, you know—” he waved his hand modestly in the air, “when I get back.”

“I’m hoping—” the boy hesitated, fumbling in his pocket to draw out a folded paper, “I’m hoping to be able to go abroad next year. If I can make it. That’s what I wanted to see you about, Professor Millen.”

“Anything I can do, I’ll be glad to do.”

“It’s a scholarship. A French scholarship, and I was hoping you’d recommend me. I have had a lot of work with you, and all. The French Department will recommend me, but I have done my minor in English, you know. What you’d say would count a lot.”

“Howell,” Professor Millen said, judicially putting the tips of his fingers together and inspecting the boy, “I’ve never had a better student than you are. Possibly never one as good. I’ll say that in my recommendation. I’ll write a strong one.” He felt his enthusiasm mounting as he spoke, and a warmth suffused him as though at the prospect of some piece of happiness, some success for himself.