"The doctor will not hear of my going alone, however," I pursued, "and—"
"And he's quite right," he interpolated.
"So I have advertised for a companion to make the trip. You don't seem to have conceived any plan for me, so I've invented one of my own."
My friend interrupted again to compliment me on the common sense of the move.
"You see, the genealogy of the Camran family that my Uncle has set his heart on gives me an excuse to secure the services of a companion in the guise of a typewriter. It takes off the feeling that I require a nurse, while practically providing the very same thing, in the event that one is needed."
Hume nodded frequently, in approval. I was evidently rising rapidly in his estimation as a young man whose common sense had returned after a long vacation.
"I hope you'll find the right sort of fellow," he said. "You ought to, if you've worded the advertisement right. The last time I put in such a notice, the time I got the man I now have—there was half a peck of answers."
Taking up a pen, and putting my feet nearer the floor, I wrote a copy of the announcement I had left at the Herald office, and passed it to my friend.
"How do you think that will do?" I inquired, gravely.
He read it, sniffed once or twice and then threw it on the floor.