"Oh, more than that," explained Letitia, "this dear, old, white-haired—"
"Egyptologist," I broke in.
"Publisher," she said, with spirit, "has promised him to start a magazine and make him editor—a scientific magazine devoted solely to Egyptology, and called The Obelisk."
"Well, well, well, well," I said. "We must congratulate the little man. Perhaps you may even be impelled to recon—"
"Now, Bertram," began Letitia, in that tone and manner I knew of old—so I put on my hat, and, freeing Robin to likelier pleasures, we drove at once to "the" Mills Hotel. Letitia's address-book had named the street, which she thought unkempt and cluttered and noisy for an editor to live in, though doubtless he had wished to be near his desk.
"Is Mr. Hiram Ptolemy in?" inquired Letitia.
"I'll see," said the clerk, consulting his ledgers.
He returned at once.
"There is no one here of that name, madam."