k he'll be home tonight?' asked the Professor. 'That's what I'm
allowing, in the circumstances,' said I. '--But you owe him some
apology, you know, because you've led him the devil of a dance.'
'Don't I realise _that!_' says he, like a man worried and much
affected. 'We'll call around to-night, on the chance of his turning
up to forgive us. Come along, Farrell!' says he.

"I whipped about; and there was Farrell, seated in that chair of
yours, bolt upright, smirking as foolish as a wet-nurse at a
christening! I couldn't have believed my eyes. . . . But there it
was--and after what I'd been listening to, five minutes before!

"As I'm describing it, it staggered me--and the more when the
Professor, looking past me, said, 'If you're ready, Farrell?' and
Farrell stood up, smiling and ready, and moved to join him.
But I kept what face I could.

"'You're going to look in again, you two?' I asked. The Professor
said 'Yes, on the chance that Roddy may turn up'; and he looked at
Farrell; and Farrell blinked and said, 'Yes, we owe him an
explanation, of course.'

"'Well,' said I,' you'll be lucky if he don't throw you both
downstairs for a pair of knockabout artists astray. I've a sense of
humour that can stretch some distance, and with the permission of our
kind friends in front this matinee performance will be repeated
to-night, when Otty's sense of humour will gape for it, no doubt,
after being stretched to the Pyrenees and back.'

"The Professor motioned Farrell out to the staircase. Then he came
forward to me and said, pretty low and serious, 'You're a good boy,
Jimmy. You're so good a boy that I want you to keep out of this.
If Roddy turns up to-night, tell him that my man's for Wimbledon,
safe and sound. On second thoughts, we won't bother a tired man,
to-night, with any excuses or apologies. By to-morrow he will
probably have had my letter, and will understand. He may or may not
decide to show it to you. I hope he won't. I hope you'll let us see
him alone to-morrow. Good-bye.'

"--Now what do you make of that?" demanded Jimmy helplessly.

"I make it out to be no jest, but pretty serious," said I.
"But luckily Farrell's located at Wimbledon. Where's Jack?" I asked.

"Don't know," answered Jimmy.

"I'm tired enough for this night, anyhow," said I. "And here's
Jephson.--'Evening, Jephson."

Jephson came in with a can in one hand and in the other a tray with a
telegram upon it.

"Good evening, S