red to an
arm-chair and put my feet up, sipping the mixture with carefree enjoyment,
rather like Caesar having one in his tent the day he overcame the Nervii.

As I let the mind dwell on what must even now be taking place in that
peaceful garden, I felt bucked and uplifted. Though never for an instant
faltering in my opinion that Augustus Fink-Nottle was Nature's final word
in cloth-headed guffins, I liked the man, wished him well, and could not
have felt more deeply involved in the success of his wooing if I, and not
he, had been under the ether.

The thought that by this time he might quite easily have completed the
preliminary _pourparlers_ and be deep in an informal discussion of
honeymoon plans was very pleasant to me.

Of course, considering the sort of girl Madeline Bassett was--stars and
rabbits and all that, I mean--you might say that a sober sadness would
have been more fitting. But in these matters you have got to realize that
tastes differ. The impulse of right-thinking men might be to run a mile
when they saw the Bassett, but for some reason she appealed to the deeps
in Gussie, so that was that.

I had reached this point in my meditations, when I was aroused by the
sound of the door opening. Somebody came in and started moving like a
leopard toward the side-table and, lowering the feet, I perceived that it
was Tuppy Glossop.

The sight of him gave me a momentary twinge of remorse, reminding me, as
it did, that in the excitement of getting Gussie fixed up I had rather
forgotten about this other client. It is often that way when you're
trying to run two cases at once.

However, Gussie now being off my mind, I was prepared to devote my whole
attention to the Glossop problem.

I had been much pleased by the way he had carried out the task assigned
him at the dinner-table. No easy one, I can assure you, for the browsing
and sluicing had been of the highest quality, and there had been one dish
in particular--I allude to the _nonnettes de poulet Agnes Sorel_--which
might well have broken down the most iron resolution. But he had passed
it up like a professional fasting man, and I was proud of him.

"Oh, hullo, Tuppy," I said, "I wanted to see you."

He turned, snifter in hand, and it was easy to see that his privations
had tried him sorely. He was looking like a wolf on the steppes of Russia
which has seen its peasant shin up a high tree.

"Yes?" he said, rather unpleasantly. "Well, here I am."

"Well