“They don’t know. Livius explained his remote antecedents only after he had got Colonel Graeme’s private ear. The colonel has kept it quiet. ‘Don’t want a rabble of psychologists and soul-pokers worrying him to death,’ he says.”
“Making it pretty plain sailing for the Roman. Well, arrange to take me there as soon as possible.”
At the Graeme house, Average Jones was received with simple courtesy by a thin rosy-cheeked old gentleman with a dagger-like imperial and a dreamy eye, who, on Warren’s introduction, made him free of the unkempt old place’s hospitality. They conversed for a time, Average Jones maintaining his end with nods and gestures, and (ostensibly) through the digital mediumship of his sponsor.
Presently Warren said to the host:
“And where is your visitor from the past?”
“Prowling among my books,” answered the old gentleman.
“Are we not going to see him?”
The colonel looked a little embarrassed. “The fact is, Professor Warren, Livius has taken rather an aversion to you.”
“I’m sorry. How so?”
A twinkle of malice shone in the old scholar’s eye. “He says your Latin accent frets his nerves,” he explained.