…A Dangerous Thing Read Online Free PDF Page B

Burns left the Counseling Office and headed for the stairs.
     
    T om Henderson's office was on the second floor of Main, on the opposite side of the building from Earl Fox's.   The location was a matter of the building's structure and was not a deliberate gesture on the part of Fox, though the truth of the matter was that Henderson was a burr under Fox's saddle, a more or less constant source of irritation.   Burns did not wish Fox any ill, but at the same time he was glad Henderson taught social studies and not English.
    Henderson was a scrawny scarecrow of a man, the ninety-eight-pound weakling grown middle-aged.   He was the type who felt threatened by anyone who dared question his absolute authority in the classroom, or even by anyone who merely appeared to question that authority.
    Let a student wonder why he had received an 86 on a quiz while someone with the identical answers had received an 87, and Henderson was likely to burst into a rage that purpled his leathery face and bulged his eyes.
    And in this case, it was correct to use the masculine pronoun to refer to the student, because it was extremely rare for a female student in one of Henderson's classes to get anything but an excellent grade.
    Burns had once overheard two women talking in the hall about Henderson's classes.   One was recommending introductory psych to the other.
    "Just be sure to wear a short skirt, sit on the front row, and cross your legs," the first one said.   "You won't get any less than a B, I promise you."
    Burns knew that Fox dealt with a number of complaints every semester from students, generally males, who felt that Henderson had persecuted, teased, or tormented them, but that so far there had been no complaints of sexual harassment.   So far.   Burns thought that maybe Henderson was one faculty member who could profit from a little political correctness.
    Burns walked to the door of the men's room (and how politically correct was that appellation? he wondered), turned left and went down the corridor to Henderson's office.
    The door was closed, and Burns's first thought was that Henderson was in class.   Then he heard muffled voices from behind the door and changed his mind.
    He raised his hand to knock and almost hit a student in the forehead as the door was jerked open and she rushed out of the office.
    She threw Burns a look and then swept by, but not before he saw the traces of tears on her cheeks.
    He looked into the office.   Henderson was standing by a window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the campus as if nothing untoward had occurred.
    Maybe nothing had.   Maybe the student had merely been upset by a homework assignment or a bad grade.   It had happened before, even to Burns, who hoped that was all there was to it.
    He tapped on the door facing, and Henderson turned from the window.
    "Hello, Burns," he said.   He seemed perfectly calm.   "Nice day, isn't it."
    "Too nice for anyone to be crying," Burns said.
    Henderson smiled grimly.   "Oh, that was nothing.   She was just angry because she read the wrong assignment and therefore made a failing grade on one of my pop tests."
    "Oh," Burns said.   Incidents like that weren't uncommon.   He thought about mentioning it to Fox later, however, just in case.   "It happens."
    "Too often," Henderson said.   He sat behind his desk.   It was much neater than Burns's own desk.   There was nothing to be seen except a desk calendar and a bust of Sigmund Freud.  
    "Have a chair, Burns," Henderson said.   "What can I do for you?"
    Burns sat down and looked at Henderson, who was wearing a tan cardigan over an open-necked white shirt.   There was a ruff of chest hair sticking out like the straw from a scarecrow's shirt.   Burns wondered if Henderson let it show like that to compensate for the fact that he was a victim of male pattern baldness.   Burns was reasonably sure that incipient baldness was the reason for Henderson's unfashionably long sideburns and the