“Not to speak of,” said Calamy.
“Charming girls?” Mr. Cardan went on. “Or goitres?”
“Neither,” said Calamy.
“And how long do you propose to stay?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Till you’ve got to the bottom of the cosmos, eh?”
Calamy smiled. “That’s about it.”
“Splendid,” said Mr. Cardan, patting him on the arm, “splendid. I envy you. God, what wouldn’t I give to be your age? What wouldn’t I give?” He shook his head sadly. “And, alas,” he added, “what could I give, in point of actual fact? I put it at about twelve hundred quid at the present time. My total fortune. Shouldn’t we sit down?” he added on another note.
Calamy led the way down the little path. Along the front of the cottage, under the windows, ran a long bench. The three men sat down. The sun shone full upon them; it was pleasantly warm. Beneath them was the narrow valley with its smoky shadows; opposite, the black hills, cloud-capped and silhouetted against the brightness of the sky about the sun.
“And the trip to Rome,” Calamy inquired, “was that agreeable?”