"Come in, old fellow," cried the familiar voice of yesterday, and Oscar found himself in Finsen's office.
"Let me see," said Finsen, removing a pair of pince-nez, "how long have you been in London?"
"Six months--nearly seven," said Oscar.
"And what have you been doing?"
"Nothing."
"Lucky chap! Nothing at all?"
"Yes, there is one thing I've been doing--I've been doing it rather industriously."
"What's that?"
"Starving."
Finsen laughed loud, but Oscar laughed louder--he had not yet broken his fast.