“That isn’t mine, that’s Cotton’s. He gets more truck like that than you can shake a stick at. He collects the foolish things, he says. Got me cornered one night and babbled about ‘cancellations’ and ‘watermarks’ and ‘perforations’ until I had the earache. He says—— Say what’s the matter with you? Feel ill, do you?”
“Wait!” replied Harry sharply. He was staring intently, scowlingly at the window. Suddenly his face cleared and he gave a laugh of triumph. “I’ve got him!” he cried. “I’ve got him!”
“Hooray! Who have you got?”
“Cotton!”
“You may keep him,” declared The Duke with enthusiasm. “And I don’t care what you do with him!”
“Look here,” exclaimed Harry eagerly. “Do you remember some time ago my saying I was certain sure I’d seen Cotton before somewhere?”
The Duke shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t remember. Maybe. Well?”
“I was positive I’d seen him, even talked to him. It bothered me a lot. I used to stare at him in class and cudgel my brains about it, but I couldn’t place him. But I was right all the time, and this gave me the clue.” He tapped the stamp catalogue on his knee. “And when you said he was a stamp collector it all came back to me like a flash.”
“Well, go on; where did you meet him?”
“Do you remember two years ago when some of the fellows went to Broadwood one night and put a sign on the campus?”