Hilaire Belloc

“ CHAPTER VIII. In which Professor Higginson gets those sweets by the wagon-load, and also hears how Men are Made. Professor Higginson stared at the pile of letters. He remembered that it was a Saturday—a free day! He groaned at such freedom.
Fame is like the trumpet she bears. The trumpet has for the civilian an exhilarating sound; for the house near barracks, too familiar with it, a mechanical one; for the mounted trooper at reveillée it has nothing but a hideous blare.
Fame had come to Professor Higginson under her less pleasing aspect. He marvelled that so much fame had already risen. ”

“ He read an invitation to deliver an address for the Research Club upon any day he might choose, but if possible during the next week. The Research Club would take for the occasion the large room at Gorton's. That was all.
"Lucky beast!" murmured Babcock, not quite loud enough for the typist to hear, as he fixed the reading Higginson with his eye.
The reading Higginson laid down the letter, nodded inanely, and said—
"Well, ought I to take that, Babcock? Who are the Research Club?"
"Who are the Research Club? Wuff! What a man! They make men!" said Babcock bitterly, "that 's what they are! ”

“ Got a telephone?"
"No—yes—no," said Professor Higginson as he reached his door.
"You ought to have—a man of your position," said Babcock. They had reached the door. "I 'll come in and help you," he added.
He did so. He set to work at once did Babcock—strongly and well. He reproved his unhappy colleague again for not having a telephone, sent out a servant in a cab with the address of a shorthand writer and of a typist, newspaper people obtainable of a Sunday, and he ordered a machine. Then he proceeded with tremendous rapidity to slice open the great heap of envelopes with a butter knife. ”