“Eminence in comparative anatomy. No marrying—no avarice.” “None,” said Findlay, glancing askance at him. “I suppose it’s the happiest way of living. But it wouldn’t be the thing for me. Excitement—but, I say!”—his eye had fallen again on that fungoid shape of drabbish-grey—“there’s a limit to scientific inhumanity. You really mustn’t keep your door open with a human brainpan.” He went across the room as he spoke and picked the thing up. “Brainpan!” said Findlay. “Oh, _that_! Man alive, that’s not a brainpan. Where’s your science?” “No. I see it’s not,” said Temple, carrying the object in his hand as he came back to his former position and scrutinising it curiously. “But what the devil is it?” “Don’t you know?” said Findlay. The thing was about thrice the size of a man’s hand, like a rough watch-pocket of thick bone. Findlay laughed almost naturally. “You have a bad memory—It’s a whale’s ear-bone.” “Of course,” said Temple, his appearance of interest vanishing. “The _bulla_ of a whale. I’ve forgotten a lot of these things.” He half turned, and put the thing on the top of the cabinet beside Findlay’s dumb-bells. “If you are serious in your music-hall proposal,” he said, reverting to a jovial suggestion of Findlay’s, “I am at your service. I’m afraid—I may find myself a little old for that sort of thing—I haven’t tried one for ages.” “But we are meeting to commemorate youth,” said Findlay. “And bury our early manhood,” said Temple. “Well, well—yes, let us go to the music hall, by all means, if you desire it. It is trivial—and appropriate. We want no tragic issues.” * * * * * When the men returned to Findlay’s study the little clock in the dimness on the mantel-shelf was pointing to half-past one. After the departure the little brown room, with its books and bones, was undisturbed, save for the two visits Findlay’s attentive servant paid, to see to the fire and to pull down the blinds and draw the curtains. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the quiet. Now and then the fire flickered and stirred, sending blood-red reflections chasing the shadows across the ceiling, and bringing into ghostly transitory prominence some grotesque grouping of animals’ bones or skulls upon the shelves. At last the stillness was broken by the unlatching and slamming of the heavy street door and the sound of unsteady footsteps approaching along the passage. Then the door opened, and the two men came into the warm firelight.