"This here chap, he got to going on and all but crying about his cursed hard fate--them's his own words, sir--his cursed hard fate in having to drink water all the time and eat cow feed--" "Eat what?" "I don't know, sir--that's what he called it--something the perfesser has him fix out of cereals and nuts and sour milk. That's all they have, sir; and they don't have no cooking, for the perfesser says it breaks the celluloid--" "Cellular," corrected Billings. "Maybe so, sir," demurred Jenkins. "He _said_ celluloid--the celluloid tissue papers, _he_ called it. And then his having no heat on all winter and the windows kept open all the time and the snow piling up on his bed at night kept him with colds all the year. And then, there was the dampness--" "_That's_ it, the dampness!" I exclaimed. "Tell him." "Why, sir, he told me that every night he had to turn down the perfesser's bed and go all over it with a two-gallon watering can--" "Watering can!" gasped Billings. "I'm telling you what he says, sir. Then he covers it all up again, and in about a half-hour the perfesser turns the covers down; and if it's what he calls 'fine'--that is, damp all over--he climbs in and sleeps like a top." "Cold-water bug, you know," I explained, but Billings shrugged his shoulders. "That's all right. Bug or not, he's the goods, all the same. Greatest ever." He spoke with quiet conviction. He deliberated a moment and turned to me. "Tell you what, Dicky: I'm going up and ask him down. He's the one to give us the right dope on these crazy letters--Eh, what you say, Jenkins?" "Beg pardon, sir; I was saying that the perfesser don't visit nobody; and he never sees nobody but the big lit'ry and scientific sharps." "Oh, he don't eh?" Billings snorted contemptuously. "Well, Jenkins, I haven't been a prize fisherman in my time for nothing; I guess I know how to select my 'fly.' I know what will fetch him: 'Mr. Lightnut's compliments, and will he be pleased to honor him by passing upon an Oriental curio of rare scientific interest?'--that sort of merry rot! Why, you couldn't hold him back with a block and tackle. Oh, you needn't worry; I'll do the proper curves all right." He turned toward the door. "And, Jenkins, you come along and work me into the lodge." "Oh, but dash it," I protested nervously, "he won't come--he'll be insulted. Why, he'll know as soon as he sees you that you couldn't--" I checked myself, recalling that the best thing after his recent exhibition was to avoid every contradiction. And then, by Jove, I knew that if he became ill and had to go to a hospital or somewhere, it would be all off with his taking me up to Wolhurst next day. Billings grinned confidently. "Watch me bring him down here," he said. And by Jove, he did! CHAPTER XVII THE PROFESSOR Billings ushered in the professor with a flourishing introduction.