By this time it was clear to me that Eric Lindon was quite unconscious of my presence. Even the Professor and the children seemed to have lost sight of me: and I stood in the midst of the group, as unconcernedly as a ghost, seeing but unseen.
“How perfectly isochronous!” the Professor exclaimed with enthusiasm. He had his watch in his hand, and was carefully counting Bruno’s oscillations. “He measures time quite as accurately as a pendulum!”
‘HOW PERFECTLY ISOCHRONOUS!’
“Yet even pendulums,” the good-natured young soldier observed, as he carefully released his hand from Bruno’s grasp, “are not a joy for ever! Come, that’s enough for one bout, little man! Next time we meet, you shall have another. Meanwhile you’d better take this old gentleman to Queer Street, Number——”
“We’ll find it!” cried Bruno eagerly, as they dragged the Professor away.
“We are much indebted to you!” the Professor said, looking over his shoulder.
“Don’t mention it!” replied the officer, raising his hat as a parting salute.
“What number did you say!” the Professor called from the distance.
The officer made a trumpet of his two hands. “Forty!” he shouted in stentorian tones. “And not piano, by any means!” he added to himself. “It’s a mad world, my masters, a mad world!” He lit another cigar, and strolled on towards his hotel.