The Hole Truth

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Dean Connor’s office was like another world, and seemed awkwardly out of place with the rest of the campus. It was ornate, and pretentious, and it smelled musty, as though it meant to emulate the precincts of some enormously more prestigious Ivy League university.

Dr. Bryant, having been summarily summoned, entered it with enormous trepidation, with a feeling of foreboding, a portent of impending doom.

“Sit down,” Connor muttered, barely looking up from a crisp, new Wall Street Journal. From his right hand a felt marker dangled, and on a pad next to the phone Bryant noted what he took to be a broker’s number and a list of stock market symbols.

Some time passed, during which Bryant’s nerves continued to rasp away, but finally Connor put the paper down, capped the marker, and pushed both it and the pad to the side of his otherwise totally uncluttered desk.

“I think it’s time for you to tell me all about this test, Bryant.”

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