“With me. Then we’ll go as soon as you can start.”
“No, no,” cried Stratton excitedly. “I should be poor company, and would rather go alone.”
“Not fit. Look here. Happy thought. I’ll ask Brettison in.”
“No, no!” cried Stratton excitedly.
“But he’s the very man. Quiet, calm, and don’t talk. Go and pick buttercups and daisies along with him for a few days, and then come back to me quite compos mentis, and we’ll see what can be done.”
Guest made toward the door, but Stratton intercepted him.
“I tell you no,” he said firmly, “and—and—Brettison is out.”
“Out?”
“Gone into the country.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Guest, looking at his friend curiously, for there was something in his manner which puzzled him. But Stratton said cheerfully: