The Man Without a Face Page #3

I see. Nothing at all to do with pre-pubescent angst, then?

It was the school my father went to.

He was in Korea, then he died in a jet crash.

Some kind of experimental spy plane.

- If it's a matter of money, I can pay you.

- No, I don't think you can.

Nice to have met you, Mr McLeod.

Bucket-head.

There's Great Grandfather MacNeil. He built the cottage.

Far out.

Oh, look at those Presbyterian eyes.

Ooh, terrifying!

I can't believe you're interested in all this ancient history.

I am, it's all research.

All for my book on the Robber Baringer mine shaft.

That is such an important topic.

It looks like Mark Hughes is writing the foreword.

Mark Hughes?

Charles? Come here, dear.

Hi, man.

I want you to meet Professor Hartley of Yale. This is my son, Charles.

Just call me Carl.

I don't need any of that imperialistic authoritarian crap.

Hi... Carl.

She hasn't caught a fish, she's vacuumed up a hairball!

Hi, Chuck.

Go put some dry clothes on.

Good night.

"Arms, I sing. I am the man...

"who first from the shores of Troy came."

"Fate exiled to Italy and her Lovinian strand..."

"..much buffeted he, on flood and field, by constraint of heaven...

"and Juno's unslumbering wrath."

Hi, Mickey. Aren't you the ugliest son of a b*tch?

If I had a dog like you, I'd put a bag over its head.

Yes, I would, you flea-infested sack of worms...

How you doin'?

Beautiful day, isn't it?

Um...

I'm here.

I know you're pressed for time and everything...

but I was wondering,

maybe you'd be interested in some Latin exercises...

just to look over 'em.

I realise you're busy, Mr McLeod...

but how much work is a couple of Latin passages?

Maybe a little geometry?

I'd like a hole.

I don't understand.

Three feet, cubed. Right here.

Stay.

Listen, I said I could pay you, didn't I?

Three feet cubed.

Hello!

Mr McLeod?

You can sit here.

Now, I'd like you to write an essay.

Any topic you'd like.

Why? It's not on the exam.

Why did you come here?

Quickly! Don't think, just answer.

For some help. You know.

No. Do you want help or not?

I guess so, if you're a teacher.

I guess so...sir.

I guess so, sir.

Good.

This is the way it works - adisca alt disceda. Learn or leave.

It's of no consequence to me one way or the other. Understood?

Yeah.

Except the bit about digging shithouse holes and writing bullshit.

I haven't got a lot of pity.

You can go now.

Pity yourself, freak! Stupid freak!

# Moon river...

Want one?

No, thanks.

According to my sources, he was a mad professor like Carl. "Dr McLeod"

Must be a Harvard man.

No doubt.

Martini?

Thank you.

It was a classic murder-suicide.

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