"He was in South America when I heard last; but I'll go bail he'll turn up soon. What is the time?"
"Half-past seven," rejoined Peter, consulting an eminently respectable watch of the family physician species.
Tim took out his piece of paper from a pocket-book commensurate to his size, and smoothed it carefully with his huge hand.
"Seven's the hour, and Jack's late. I never knew him early yet."
"Well, you were not renowned for punctuality at school, Tim!"
"True for you, Philip, and many's the hearing I've had for that same. But this is a special occasion, and Jack should be punctual. Confound him."
"Oh, he'll be here shortly," said Cassim, shrugging his shoulders. "We have plenty to talk about until he arrives. How are you, Tim? But I needn't ask, you look like the giant Goribuster."
"Six foot five in my stockings," replied Tim, complacently; "and a good thing it is for me that same. Special corresponding isn't knocking about the world in a gentleman's yacht, sir."
"Or collecting butterflies," added Philip, with a sly smile at Peter.
"Are you at that rubbish still, Peter?"