"Why," Jerry responded rather absently, "I supposed you were studying or something."
"Why, yes, to be sure I am; haven't I told the custode so?" chuckled Mr. Wrenmarsh. His laughter was as extraordinary as his speech and manner. He would double up as if with a sort of a spasm and snigger gastrically. "But that's not all," he went on, as Jerry turned to look at him questioningly; "that's not all. I'm doing something else. I'm waiting."
"What for?" asked Taberman, seeing that he was expected to speak.
"Help," replied Wrenmarsh laconically.
"Help?" repeated Jerry blankly.
"Yes, help; waiting. Collecting is nothing but waiting anyway,—waiting for news, waiting for funds, waiting for auctions, waiting for old countesses to die, waiting for some fool of a peasant to discover something; waiting, waiting, waiting all along the line. It's the man who waits with his ears and eyes open and his mouth shut that gets what he wants. He's the man."
"But—but what sort of help do you want now?" Tab inquired.
He was sympathetic by nature, and this extraordinary individual had aroused not only his curiosity, but in some mysterious manner stimulated him to a desire to be of service. He had come to Pæstum for amusement. He felt that in meeting the collector he had been amply repaid. The unwonted emotion which had been stirred by the temple melted in his boyish heart before the warmer human interest which the collector aroused, and it was perhaps with some unrealized relief at getting back to more familiar levels of feeling that he now began to enter into the affairs of his companion. It came over him that he was being appealed to, and he was ready to take the position that if any aid of his could bring relief to Mr. Wrenmarsh, that eccentric gentleman should no longer need to go on waiting for help.
"I'll tell you the whole business," said the archæologist, in a sudden burst of frankness. "You look trustworthy. I've been here ten days—waiting. I've written, of course, for help; but it doesn't seem to come. Three weeks ago I was in Naples, and heard—no matter how—that somewhere down here a lot of good stuff had turned up. I kept coming down here daily until, by dint of discreet questions—discretion's the backbone of the game—I found out what had happened. A peasant here had been spading over some ground. One day the earth sunk suddenly under him, and down he went into a hole. He found, as soon as he could get his wits together, that he had broken through the roof of an ancient cella of some sort. He got out without much trouble, pulled himself together, and did what any peasant would know enough to do,—covered the place with brush and dirt so that no news of the thing should get to the custodi. Then he went on with his spading."
"Without investigating?" asked Jerry, full of interest.