Mr. Jiddy wriggled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken, and resumed his cigarette, while Otterburn, who agreed with every word Laxton said, but could hardly endorse it in his character of host, hastened to make an observation.
"By the way, Gartney's in London."
"Just come in time to hear Mr. Dolser's opinion about his book," said Laxton, grimly.
"I don't think that would trouble Gartney much," replied Otterburn, smiling, "but after eighteen months' travel in the wilds, I'll suppose he'll stay at home for some time."
"I'll lay you a level fiver he doesn't," said Mr. Laxton, removing his pipe, "he's got prairie fever."
"What's prairie fever?" demanded Dolly.
"Do you know what a prairie is?" said Laxton, answering one question by asking another.
"A large field, isn't it?" said Mr. Jiddy, complacently. Angus roared.
"Yes, a very large field," he replied, "much larger than any you'll get in England. I shot that buffalo on the prairie," he added, pointing to a huge shaggy head adorning the opposite wall.
"It's a very large head," observed Mr. Jiddy, wisely. "A buffalo--a kind of cow, isn't it?"