I cannot consider this answer satisfactory. Sir Elkin is content to meet the allegation with a flat denial, and rejects the reasonable request for a public inquiry in language none too courteous. Unfortunately a body of testimony by residents in the close vicinity of the College, as to the noises and outcries heard proceeding from the laboratories from time to time, if not in direct conflict with the denial, at least suggests that, with the growing numbers of his professors and students, Sir Elkin cannot know what is going on, at all times, in every department of the Institution: while his peremptory rejection of an investigation which he might have welcomed as an opportunity for allaying public suspicion will be far from having that effect. If all is well inside his laboratories, why should Sir Elkin fear the light? May I point out that considerable sums of public money are spent on these University Colleges, and even, indirectly, in promoting the very researches incriminated by the Memorialists. We should insist on knowing what we are paying for and whether it is consistent with the consciences of those among us who look upon dumb animals as the friends and servants of man. I am, Sir, Your obedient servant, P. FARRELL. The Acacias, Wimbledon, Thursday, March 7, 1907. I dressed and breakfasted in some haste. I heard Jimmy splashing and carolling in his tub, and for one moment had a mind to knock in and read him the letter, which worried me. But I didn't. . . . It really wasn't Jimmy's business. . . . Good Lord! if I'd only acted on that one little impulse, which seemed at the time not to matter two straws!-- I took a taxi to Chelsea, carting the newspapers with me and rooting Farrell's truffles out of a dozen or so on the way. It was just as bad as I feared. The man had used a type-copier and snowed his screed all over Fleet Street. There were one or two small leaders, too, and editorial notes: nasty ones. I caught Foe on his very doorstep. "Hallo!" said he. "What's wrong? . . . Looks as if you were suddenly reduced to selling newspapers. I'm not buying any, my good man." "You'll come upstairs and read a few, anyway," said I; and took him upstairs and showed him the _Times_. He frowned as he read Farrell's letter. I expected him to break out into strong language at least. But he finished his reading and tossed the paper on to the table with no more than a short laugh--a rather grim short laugh. "Silly little bounder," was his comment. "You didn't treat him quite so apathetically, the night before last," said I. "It might be better for you if you had. Look, here's the _Morning Post, Standard, Daily News, Mail, Chronicle, Express_. . . . He has plastered it into them all." "I don't read newspapers," was his answer.