Stoner

"I have been looking through your records." Sloane paused and lifted a folder from his desk, regarding it with detached irony. "I hope you do not mind my inquisitiveness."

Stoner wet his lips and shifted on the chair. He tried to fold his large hands together so that they would be invisible. "No, sir," he said in a husky voice.

Sloane nodded. "Good. I note that you began your course of studies here as an agriculture student and that sometime during your sophomore year you switched your program to literature. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Stoner said.

Sloane leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the square of light that came in from the high small window. He tapped his fingertips together and turned back to the young man who sat stiffly in front of him.

"The official purpose of this conference is to inform you that you will have to make a formal change of study program, declaring your intention to abandon your initial course of study and declare your final one. It's a matter of five minutes or so at the registrar's office. You will take care of that, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," Stoner said.

"But as you may have guessed, that is not the reason I asked you to drop by. Do you mind if I inquire a little about your future plans?"

"No, sir," Stoner said. He looked at his hands, which were twisted tightly together.

Sloane touched the folder of papers that he had dropped on his desk. "I gather that you were a bit older than the ordinary student when you first entered the University. Nearly twenty, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," Stoner said.

"And at that time your plans were to undertake the sequence offered by the school of Agriculture?"

"Yes, sir."

Sloane leaned back in his chair and regarded the high dim ceiling. He asked abruptly, "And what are your plans now?"

Stoner was silent. This was something he had not thought about, had not wanted to think about. He said at last, with a touch of resentment, "I don't know. I haven't given it much thought."

Sloane said, "Are you looking forward to the day when you emerge from these cloistered walls into what some call the world?"

Stoner grinned through his embarrassment. "No, sir."

Sloane tapped the folder of papers on his desk. "I am informed by these records that you come from a farming community. I take it that your parents are farm people?"

Stoner nodded.

"And do you intend to return to the farm after you receive your degree here?"

"No, sir," Stoner said, and the decisiveness of his voice surprised him. He thought with some wonder of the decision he had suddenly made.

Sloane nodded. "I should imagine a serious student of literature might find his skills not precisely suited to the persuasion of the soil."

"I won't go back," Stoner said as if Sloane had not spoken. "I don't know what I'll do exactly." He looked at his hands and said to them, "I can't quite realize that I'll be through so soon, that I'll be leaving the University at the end of the year."

Sloane said casually, "There is, of course, no absolute need for you to leave. I take it that you have no independent means?"

Stoner shook his head.

"You have an excellent undergraduate record. Except for your"-- he lifted his eyebrows and smiled--"except for your sophomore survey of English literature, you have all A's in your English courses; nothing below a B elsewhere. If you could maintain yourself for a year or so beyond graduation, you could, I'm sure, successfully complete the work for your Master of Arts; after which you would probably be able to teach while you worked toward your doctorate. If that sort of thing would interest you at all."

Stoner drew back. "What do you mean?" he asked and heard something like fear in his voice.

Sloane leaned forward until his face was close; Stoner saw the lines on the long thin face soften, and he heard the dry mocking voice become gentle and unprotected.

"But don't you know, Mr. Stoner?" Sloane asked. "Don't you understand about yourself yet? You're going to be a teacher."

Suddenly Sloane seemed very distant, and the walls of the office receded. Stoner felt himself suspended in the wide air, and he heard his voice ask, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Sloane said softly.

"How can you tell? How can you be sure?"

"It's love, Mr. Stoner," Sloane said cheerfully. "You are in love. It's as simple as that."