With a twinkling of his sky-blue eyes that spoke to pleasant temper, the Professor greeted George; nodded him into an opposite seat. “I am reading a letter,” he announced. This man spoke very slowly, never abbreviated; had now an air of child-like happiness. “It is a letter from Bill.” George said: “Ah, what is Bill doing? I've not seen him for days.” Professor Wyvern chuckled away and fumbled with clumsy old fingers among the closely-written sheets on his lap. One he selected and inclined towards George. Its upper half was thickly lettered in heavy red type, prominent among which there bawled forth in wavy capitals, thickly underscored: “THE DAILY.” EVERYBODY'S PAPER. PRICE 1/2d. “Hot stuff!” George cried. “Is old Bill on the staff of the _Daily_?” “Old Bill is on the staff of the _Daily_,” the Professor returned with more chuckling. “You have heard of it?” “Well, it's advertised everywhere. You can't get away from it. First number out to-morrow, isn't it?” “Yes, it is. I think it will be a very terrible production--a very horrible production indeed. But I am an annual subscriber because of Bill, and I have written a short article for the first issue also because of Bill. Bill says” (the Professor fumbled again; ran his nose twice up and down each sheet; finally struck the passage) “Bill says, 'You were a brick, dear old governor, to send that article. It is a most thundering scoop for the _Daily_, and made the Boss most awfully bucked up with me. You are a brick, dear old Governor.” A little tear rolled out of Professor Wyvern's silly old eye, and he blew his nose in a series of terrific thunder-claps. “There!” he said. “You see how pleased Bill is with himself. I am afraid he uses the most terrible expressions in his letters, but he does not use them when he is writing his stories. He is a clever boy, and I am very proud of him. Now let me tell you.” He fell to nosing the sheets again. “All this first part is about his dogs. '... if Abiram and Dathan start scrapping, just hoof Abiram--it's his fault.'” The Professor looked up at George. “I would more readily kick a police constable than I would kick Abiram,” he said. “I must tell Hocken all this.” He continued, “'... see that Korah is kept short of meat for a bit ... when they are exercising, for goodness' sake don't let them be taken down Windmill Lane. There is a collie there that they have got a grudge against and will tear to bits if they catch.'”