I actually stumbled, as if he had tripped me. “Harry!” I had clutched hold of him to stop him, and we stood face to face. “You ain’t afraid?” he asked. “Afraid! I’m sick at the very thought.” “O, that’s rot! We’ve seen the worst, and got over it.” “_Have_ we? We’ve seen enough anyhow to serve me for a lifetime.” “Don’t you bother, then. I’ll go by myself.” “You shan’t, I tell you.” “Shan’t I? We’ll see.” “What do you want to go for?” “To find out whether _he’s_ been there since or not.” “What does it matter if he has? Besides, he’d never get his great carcase through the way we came.” “I dare say; but I want to see. Forewarned is forearmed.” “Wait till we’ve spoken to Mr. Sant.” “I’d rather have the latest facts to put before him.” I clutched my forehead. I knew the dogged side of this friend of mine. Then I fell into a fury, and stamped. “You’re a beast! If I have a fit, you’ll have to answer for it, that’s all.” “I don’t want you to come!” “Don’t you? Who gave you leave to dictate to me, I should like to know?” “Well, come if you like.” “Thank you, Mr. Harrier, for the permission.” We resumed our way, and I walked by Harry’s side, ruffling. Presently he said-- “I say! Supposing that old Pilbrow’s treasure had anything to do with the secret in the hill! What a lovely complication!” “I don’t see why it particularly should,” I snapped. “It had to do with a book; not--not with a hash of smugglers.” I took no longer interest in Joshua for the moment. Harry had put all that story out of my head. He saw I was worked up, and said no more. We parted where our roads branched, on my side in a very depressed condition. My dinner choked me, and my desperate efforts to simulate appetite only brought me observation. Uncle Jenico was quite concerned, and Mrs. Puddephatt disgustingly critical. “It’s the hair,” she said. “Soon or late it was bound to find ’im hout. I don’t blame you, sir, for noticing at the eleventh hour what’s long been apperient to the casual. The heyes of love is blind, and incapable of seeing into the stomach. The young gentleman, sir, is sickening for London, and no wonder. We know, sir, what Scripture says is the dog’s fancy; and is a human to be judged more himpervious to what he’s give up? Let Master Richard breathe the hair of his native ’eath once more is _my_ advice.” “Is there any truth in this, Dick?” said Uncle Jenico, when she had gone. “Have you been, perhaps unconsciously, thinking of London lately, because----” “O, don’t be a dear old idiot!” I interrupted him impatiently. “I was never less in the mood to leave Dunberry. Can’t I keep up my character for health without stuffing myself when I ain’t hungry!”