"Great!" agreed Billings.
"Ripping idea," I tried as a reply.
The professor clasped his fingers tightly and rubbed his thumbs one over the other. He brightened visibly.
"The party has to go down upon his knees and stoop behind the end of the tub in the bath-room," he continued. "It was my thought that while in that advantageous position the sudden, quick application of a Turkish bath towel saturated in ether would—Eh? Do you follow me?"
"Devilish clever, you know," I said. I had already selected this for reply for this time.
Billings failed to come up. He just stared hard, rolled his eyes and ran his finger around under his collar.
The professor, in the act of taking another pinch from my shirt front, paused with a little jerk. Then his great head shot forward in front of his rigid neck—so suddenly, by Jove, that I reached out to try to catch it, don't you know. He made just two strides to the table, ten feet away, and pounced upon the pajamas with obviously trembling hands.
And behind his back Billings relapsed into an arm-chair and fanned himself with a magazine.
His head dropped back, and upon his fat face was a what-you-call-it smile of peace. He closed his eyes for an instant.
"Suffering Thomas cats! At last!" I heard him murmur.