At Darlinghurst Soft Sam expressed the wish to speak privately with Bertha, and the Professor had to wait impatiently till the interview was over.
Coming out, Soft Sam only nodded to him on his way to the gate, and any one who had noted the old man’s face as he walked down Oxford Street would have seen his usual serene smile was gone—he was troubled.
Crossing Hyde Park he hailed a man on an adjoining footway.
“Heigh, there, Huey!”
Huey Gosper, for that was the gentleman called, seeing who it was addressed him, came forward at once over the turf.
“Is it a fiver you want, Sam?” he said, putting his hand to his pocket, and remembering the old gentleman’s peculiar way.
“No, boy; I wish that was all the trouble. The fact is, I was just going to hunt you up. I have something of importance to tell you. Now, mind this, don’t laugh, and think it’s not serious.”
“Well, what’s the matter?” said Huey, easily.
“The matter, my boy, is this—that the climate of Sydney for the next year or two is likely to be very unhealthy for you. You have got a complaint that nothing can cure but the air of South America, and the medicine must be taken at once.”
“But what are you driving at, Sam?” said Huey, turning pale. “Yours is a big order.”