"Ah! if I were a minister, it would not take long, no, it would not be very long . . . . You have read that article on Algerian cotton. One of two things, either irrigation . . . . But you are not listening to me, and yet it is a more serious matter than you think."
He rose, and with his hands in his pocket, walked across the room humming an old medical student's song. I followed him closely.
"Jacques," said I, as he turned round, "tell me frankly, are you satisfied?"
"Yes, yes, I am satisfied . . . observe my untroubled look," and he broke into his hearty and somewhat noisy laugh.
"You are not hiding anything from me, my dear fellow?"
"What a donkey you are, old fellow. I tell you that everything is going on well."
And he resumed his song, jingling the money in his pockets.
"All is going on well, but it will take some time," he went on. "Let me have one of your dressing-gowns. I shall be more comfortable for the night, and these ladies will excuse me, will they not?"
"Excuse you, I should think so, you, the doctor, and my friend!" I felt devotedly attached to him that evening.
"Well, then, if they will excuse me, you can very well let me have a pair of slippers."