said desperately, "No! No, I mean, they don't even know for sure
if Columbus was born in Genoa. They just think he was. So they also
could be wrong about--"

Abruptly the professor's face went serious. "My dear Mr. Jones," he said
slowly, acidly, "don't you think we've had enough of fantasy? Don't you
think we ought to return to history?"

Danny sat down and for a moment shut his eyes but remained conscious of
everyone looking at him, staring at him, evaluating. It wasn't so easy,
he decided, being a sophomore transfer student from a big city college,
where almost everything went and there was a certain amount of anonymity
in the very size of the classes, to a small town college where every
face, after a week or so, was familiar. Danny wished he had kept his big
yap shut about Columbus, but it was too late now. They'd be ribbing him
for weeks....

On his way back to the dorm after classes he was hailed by a student who
lived down the hall from him, a fellow named Groves, who said, "How's
the boy, Danny. Next thing you'll tell us is that Cortez was really a
sexy Spanish broad with a thirty-eight bust who conquered Montezuma and
his Indians with sex appeal. Get it, boy. I said--"

"Aw, lay off," Danny grumbled.

The other boy laughed, then shrugged, then said, "Oh yeah, forgot to
tell you. There's a telegram waiting for you in the dorm. House-mother's
got it. Well, see you, Vasco da Gama."

Danny trudged on to the Georgian-style dormitory and went inside,
through the lobby and behind the stairs to the house-mother's office at
the rear of the building. She was a kindly-looking old woman with a halo
of white hair and a smile which made her a good copy of everyone's
grandmother. But now her face was set in unexpectedly grim lines.
"Telegram for you, Danny," she said slowly. "They read it over the
telephone first, then delivered it." She held out a yellow envelope.
"I'm afraid it's some bad news, Danny." She seemed somehow reluctant to
part with the little yellow envelope.

"What is it?" Danny said.

"You'd better read it yourself. Here, sit down."

Danny nodded, took the envelope, sat down and opened it. He read, MR.
DANNY JONES, WHITNEY COLLEGE, WHITNEY, VIRGINIA. REGRET TO INFORM YOU
UNCLE AVERILL PASSED AWAY LAST NIGHT PEACEFULLY IN HIS SLEEP LEAVING
UNSPECIFIED PROPERTY TO YOU. It was signed with a name Danny did not
recognize.

"I'm terribly sorry," the house-mother said, placing her hand on
Danny's shoulde