Tales of the Black Widowers - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,15
from Berry, let me add something. Professor St. George died the year I came, as I said, and I didn't know him. But I know many people who did know him and I've heard many stories about him."
"You mean he was known to be dishonest?" asked Drake.
"No one said that. But he was known to be unscrupulous and I've heard some unsavory hints about how he maneuvered government grants into yielding him an income. When I heard your story about Lance, Jim, I must admit I didn't think St. George would be involved in quite that way. But now that Henry has taken the trouble to think the unthinkable from the mountain height of his own honesty-why, I believe he's right."
Trumbull said, "Then that's that. Jim, after thirty years, you can forget the whole thing."
"Except-except"-a half smile came over Drake's face and then he broke into a laugh-"I am dishonest because I can't help thinking that if Lance had the questions all along, the bastard might have passed on a hint or two to the rest of us."
"After you had all laughed at him, sir?" asked Henry quietly, as he began to clear the table.
Afterword
This story first appeared in the July 1972 issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, under the title "The Phony Ph.D."
The reason for the title change was clear. EQMM runs a series of excellent stories by Lawrence Treat with titles such as "H as in Homicide," "C as in Cutthroat," and so on. Naturally, the magazine wanted to reserve such titles to Mr. Treat.
Here in the book, however, I hope Mr. Treat won't mind if I go back to "Ph as in Phony," since that seems to me to be perfect. I promise I won't use that type of title again.
This story, incidentally, betrayed me into a bit of vanity of a type unusual for me. (Certain other types are usual.) A Professor Porter of the University of Oregon wrote to point out certain infelicities in the story in connection with qualifying for research toward the doctorate. He signed it with a "Ph.D." after his signature to indicate that he was qualified to discuss the matter.
And he was, for he was entirely right and I have adjusted the version of the story as presented here to meethis objections. However, in answering the letter, I was so anxious not to have him think I was myself unqualified that I placed a "Ph.D." after my signature, too. The initials were legitimate, for I obtained it in chemistry at Columbia in 1948, but I think it's the only time I used it in anything but official scholarly communications.
3.Truth to Tell
When Roger Halsted made his appearance at the head of the stairs on the day of the monthly meeting of the Black Widowers, the only others yet present were Avalon and Rubin. They greeted him with jubilation.
Emmanuel Rubin said, "Well, you've finally managed to stir yourself up to the point of meeting your old friends, have you?" He trotted over and held out his hands, his straggly beard stretching to match his broad grin. "Where've you been the last two meetings?"
"Hello, Roger," said Geoffrey Avalon, smiling from his stiff height. "Pleased to see you."
Halsted shucked his coat. "Damned cold outside. Henry, bring-"
But Henry, the only waiter the Black Widowers ever had or ever would have, had the drink waiting. "I'm glad to see you again, sir."
Halsted took it with a nod of thanks. "Twice running something came up... Say, you know what I've decided to do?"
"Give up mathematics and make an honest living?" asked Rubin.
Halsted sighed. "Teaching math at a junior high school is about as honest a living as one can find. That's why it pays so little."
"In that case," said Avalon, swirling his drink gently, "why is free-lance writina; so dishonest a racket?"
"Free-lance writing is not dishonest," said free-lance Rubin, rising to the bait at once, "as long as you make no use of an agent-"
"What have you decided to do, Roger?" interrupted Avalon blandly.
"It's just this project I dreamed up," said Halsted. His forehead rose white and high, showing no signs of the hairline that had been there perhaps ten years ago, though the hair was still copious enough at the top and around the sides. "I'm going to rewrite the Iliad and the Odyssey in limericks, one for each of the forty-eight books they contain."
Avalon nodded. "Any of it written?"
"I've got the first book of the Iliad taken care of. It goes like this: