"Well, Fitz, what are you going to do?"
"Hewitt, give me a chance. I've been home but a week. I'm not going to dash to the Pole without having a ripping good time here first. Will a month do?"
"Oh, the expedition doesn't leave for two months yet. But we must sign the contract a month beforehand."
"To-day is the first of June; I promise to telegraph you yes or no this day month. You have had me over in Europe eighteen months. I'm tired of trains, and boats, and mules. I'm going fishing."
"Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal.
"By the way, Hewitt," said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chap called Karl Breitmann?"
"Yes," answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though."
"I have," joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What do you know about him?"
"Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dined with me in Paris. Amazing lot of adventures. Rather down on his luck, I should judge."
"Couple of scars on his left cheek and a bit of the scalp gone; German student sort, rather good-looking, fine physique?"