“Very well. I’ll telegraph. We must be scrupulously fair in the matter. And now let us dismiss an unprofitable subject. I’m afraid you have been talking too much.”
“A little too much, I’m afraid,” said Brandon rather feebly.
“Well, good-by, my dear fellow,” said the vicar heartily. “And forget all about this tiresome business. It doesn’t in any way concern you if only you could think so. Whatever happens, the man will be treated with every consideration. As for Professor Murdwell, I’m afraid he draws the long bow. These brilliant men of science always do. Good-by. And as I go out I’ll ask the nurse to come to you.”
XX
In the meantime in Dr. Joliffe’s summerhouse the pipe of peace was being smoked. Dr. Joliffe’s cigars had a virtue of their own, and Dr. Parker, who was no mean judge of such things, had rather weakly allowed the flesh to conquer. Joliffe was a perverse fellow, but even he, apparently, was not quite impossible. His cigars somehow just saved him.
The third whiff of an excellent Corona suddenly transformed Dr. Parker into a man of the world.
“The fact is,” said he, “our friend here, like all country parsons who have been too long in one place, is a bit too dogmatic.”
An answering twinkle came into the eye of Dr. Joliffe. Somehow the admission seemed to clear the air considerably.
“He wants humoring.”
“No doubt. But this poor chap is as harmless as I am.”