. . . Don't hurry me, Roddy: let me come around
again to-morrow. . . . I can't invite you to my flat, because I'm
making arrangements to shut it up, and these details get in the way,
all the time. . . . Tell you what.--Meet me, you two, at Prince's
Grill-room to-morrow, one-fifteen, and you shall have the plan of
campaign on a half-sheet of notepaper. I'm a brute, Roddy, to bother
you with these private affairs in the middle of your politics.
But one-fifteen to-morrow, if you can manage. Sure? Right, then.--
So long!"
He wagged, at the door, a benediction on us with his walking-stick
and went down the stairs, I strolled to the window and watched him
cross the turfed square of the court. Jimmy had taken up the poker
and started raking the lower bars of the grate.
"Queer how quietly the Professor takes it," began Jimmy. "I was
half-afraid--Oh, drop it, Otty, old man--I'm sorry!"
We had both wheeled about together, and I held a window cushion,
poised, ready to hurl.
"Of course I didn't mean that, really!" pleaded Jimmy, parrying with
the poker-point.
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