Rather a good idea, my stopping at home to keep goal. Hard lines on
you, though; all that journey for nothing. . . . If it's any
consolation, the Professor was much affected when I told him of all
the trouble you were taking, out of pure friendship, to fit him with
a strait-waistcoat. 'Good old Roddy!' he said."
"No, he didn't," I interrupted. "And if he did, we'll cut that out.
Tell me what happened."
"He said he had posted a letter to you from Biarritz: that it ought
to have arrived by this time. I told him it hadn't, and it hasn't.
If it had, I warn you I should have opened it."
"That's all right," I said. "I extracted it from the post-box at
Biarritz, and have it here. You shall read it by and by. Go on."
"Well, in my opinion, the Professor's pulling your leg--or he and
Farrell between 'em. If either's mad, it's Farrell; or else--which
I'm inclined to suspect--Farrell's a born actor."
"Now see here," I threatened, "I've travelled some thousands of
miles: I've spent two nights in the train and one in a French
bedstead haunted by mosquitoes: I've had the beast of a crossing, and
I'm in the worst possible temper.
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