will have a fit."

"A fit?" murmured Spence. Privately he thought that a fit might do the
old gentleman good.

"He hates having anyone here," she went on thoughtfully. "It upsets
him."

"Does it? But why? I can understand it upsetting you. But he--he
doesn't do the work, does he?"

"Not exactly," the girl smiled. "But--oh well, I don't believe in
explanations. You'll see things for your-self, perhaps. And now I'll
get you a book. I won't warn you not to move for I know you can't."

With a glance which, true to her promise, was not overburdened with
sympathy, his strangely acquired hostess went out and closed the door.

He tried to read the book she had handed him ("Green Mansions"--ho-r
had it wandered out here?) but his mind could not detach itself. It
insisted upon listening for sounds outside. And presently a sound
came--the high, thin sound of a voice shaking with weakness or rage.
Then the cool tones of his absent nurse, then the voice
again--certainly a most unpleasant voice--and the crashing sound of
something being violently thrown to the ground and stamped upon.
Through the closed door, the professor seemed to see a vision of an
absurd old man with pale eyes, who shrieked and stamped upon an
umbrella.

"That," said Hamilton Spence, with resignation, "that must be father
having a fit!"

CHAPTER IV

Letter from Professor Hamilton Spence to his friend, John Rogers, M.D.

DEAR Bones: Chortle if you want to--your worst prognostications have
come true. The unexpectedness of the sciatic nerve, as set forth in
your parting discourse, has amply proved itself. The dashed thing is
all that you said of it--and more. It did not even permit me to
collapse gracefully--or to choose my public. Your other man had a
policeman, hadn't he?

Here I am, stranded upon a sofa from which I cannot get up and detained
indefinitely upon a mountain from which I cannot get down. My nurse (I
have a nurse) refuses to admit the mountain. She insists upon referring
to this dizzy height as "just above sea-level" and declares that the
precipitous ascent thereto is "a slight grade." Otherwise she is quite
sane.

But sanity is more than I feel justified in claiming for anyone else in
this household. There is Li Ho, for instance. Well, I'm not certain
about Li Ho. He may be Chinese-sane. My nurse says he is. But I have no
doubts at all about my host. He is so queer that I sometimes wonder if
he is not a figment. Perhaps I imagi