"You'd have done very well for my job if he'd only buttoned on to you." "He is not the kind of man to 'button on.'" "Don't you teach your grandfather to suck eggs," he said angrily. "I like your impudence, but I'm busted if I can put up with it," but before I could answer him he was apologizing and shaking my hand most vigorously. At that moment Hubert opened the door, and both saw and heard what was happening. The Professor turned round quickly and forgot to drop my hand, with the result that I was pulled from my soda-water case on to the floor. "I thought," he gasped, "it was old Ally Sloper." I managed to escape from him and to stand up. Hubert, however, did not say anything, but began to brush my coat with his hand. "Who is Ally Sloper?" I asked, for I began to think that the Professor, who was looking ashamed of himself, was a lunatic. "He's Mr. King, the man who helps me at Oxford, he dresses rather funnily," Hubert explained. "He bothers me when I am not well," the Professor added, but he did not seem certain what line to take and kept his back turned to both of us. "If you would only be well, he wouldn't bother you," Hubert said at once. "I am better than I used to be. You know how the weather upsets me, I haven't had an afternoon off for six weeks. Ask Emily," and when he turned round the tears were once more rolling down his cheeks, and I was desperately afraid that I was in for a regular scene. "You are nearly all right now," I said, "and I must be going if Hubert will walk a little way with me." He took my hand again and held it. "You will not think very badly of an old man who has served his country," he said. "No, but I do think you ought to be----" and then I stopped. "What?" "It's no business of mine." "You are the son of the man who saved my life." "Oh don't," I replied, and a tear dropping plump on the back of my hand settled me. "I was going to say ashamed of yourself." "To think that any one should say that in the presence of my son," he said, and dropped my hand. "I have said it a hundred times, but no one else has ever had the pluck to," Hubert put in. "Kick a worm when he doesn't turn," he said confusedly. "That's all rot," I answered, and something compelled me to walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder. "You aren't a worm, and I wouldn't dare to kick you. Wouldn't dare, do you see; you're a fine, big chap, why in heaven's name don't you pull yourself together? I don't know much about it, but I'll bet it's worth it. A man like you oughtn't to go crying like a baby." "No sympathy," he moaned. "Rot," I said again. "I shall tell my uncle about you, he'll be a jolly useful friend." "What's he?" "A parson." "Two pennuth of tea and a tract. No thanks," he shook his head decidedly. "He's not that kind. A man isn't bound to be an ass because he is a parson." "You seem to have kind of taken charge of me," he said.