"Awfully large head," continued Billings, elevating his hands some two feet apart, "pear-shaped affair—big end up—bumps on it like halves of grape fruit, porcupine eyebrows, and—"
"Oh, I know," I said, nodding eagerly; "and a little, shriveled—well, kind of mashed sort of face, eyes beadlike and jolly small. I've got him now! I've gone down with him in the elevator."
Billings nodded. "You've got him painted," he said drily. "That's the professor; only, his eyes are anything but 'jolly.' I've ridden in the elevator with him myself. Always manages to look like he was traveling with a bad smell!"
"Devilish sensitive, I dare say."
Billings looked at me suspiciously, but I had got hold of the thing I was trying to recollect and I went on quickly:
"By Jove, you know, I believe Jenkins knows his man—fellow who butlers, and, I believe, cooks, for him. He and Jenkins belong to the same—how do they call it?—same club of gentlemen's gentlemen."
Billings brought his fist down. "Let's have Jenkins in," he suggested. And we did.
"I say, Jenkins," I began, "this Professor Doodle bug above us—"
"Doozenberry!" Billings sharply corrected.
"Well, some jolly rum thing about him, don't you know, Jenkins—something you said his man told you—remember, eh?"