The professor's man protested: "Professor Doozenberry don't like—"
"Oh, dash it, let him have them!" I exclaimed, for Billings was already chuckling happily and writing in the little blank book.
"Come on," I pleaded, catching a fold of the pajamas. "Wouldn't you like to come get some clothes on?"
He drew back in alarm. "No, no—not yet—not until I complete my notes," was his crazy answer. "You know: sublata causa, tollitur effectus!" And he looked as though he thought this would finish me.
"But your friend," he exclaimed suddenly, as he allowed me to throw a blanket about his shoulders and we moved out of the door, "the gentleman I met last night—Billings—is not that the name?"
I looked at him miserably as we entered the car to go down.
"Oh, I say, Billings, old chap," I protested earnestly, "don't you know me?" I pointed to the little panel of mirror in the cage. "Don't you know you are Billings? Can't you see?"
His fat head pecked at the glass for an instant. Then he looked at me with eager, batting eyes. He chuckled hoarsely, gurglingly, and out came the note-book and pencil from his sleeve.
"Better and better," he muttered. "Now, if we could only go to him!" He caught my arm. "In the interest of this investigation of scientific phenomena, would he consider a call intrusive—could we not seek your friend, Mr. Billings?"
"It's all right, you know," I gently reassured him. "Yes, we're going to him—going right there. Just a little ride, you know."