"If you must know, I got weary of hearing them sing your praises." I could see that he was beginning to get nettled. "I regret having alarmed you," he said. "I see that Peg has dropped a shoe. If you'll let me fix it for you, after that I won't bother you." We turned back again along the road, and I noticed the right side of his face for the first time. Under the ear was a large livid bruise. "That hobo, or whoever he was," I said, "must have been a better fighter than Andrew. I see he landed on your cheek. Are you always fighting?" His annoyance disappeared. Apparently the Professor enjoyed a fight almost as much as he did a good book. "Please don't regard the last twenty-four hours as typical of me," he said with a chuckle. "I am so unused to being a squire of dames that perhaps I take the responsibilities too seriously." "Did you sleep at all last night?" I asked. I think I began to realize for the first time that the gallant little creature had been out all night in a drizzling rain, simply to guard me from possible annoyance; and I had been unforgivably churlish about it. "I found a very fine haystack in a field overlooking the quarry. I crawled into the middle of it. A haystack is sometimes more comfortable than a boarding-house." "Well," I said penitently, "I can never forgive myself for the trouble I've caused you. It was awfully good of you to do what you did. Please put your cap on and don't catch cold." We walked for several minutes in silence. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I was afraid he might have caught his death of cold from being out all night in the wet, to say nothing of the scuffle he had had with the tramp; but he really looked as chipper as ever. "How do you like the wild life of a bookseller?" he said. "You must read George Borrow. He would have enjoyed Parnassus." "I was just thinking, when I met you, that I could write a book about my adventures." "Good!" he said. "We might collaborate." "There's another thing we might collaborate on," I said, "and that's breakfast. I'm sure you haven't had any." "No," he said, "I don't think I have. I never lie when I know I shan't be believed." "I haven't had any, either," I said. I thought that to tell an untruth would be the least thing I could do to reward the little man for his unselfishness. "Well," he said, "I really thought that by this time--" He broke off. "Was that Bock barking?" he asked sharply. We had been walking slowly, and had not yet reached the spot where the lane branched from the main road. We were still about three quarters of a mile from the place where I had camped overnight. We both listened carefully, but I could hear nothing but the singing of the telephone wires along the road. "No matter," he said. "I thought I heard a dog." But I noticed that he quickened his pace.