“Before I left I made arrangements with the Albanian to look after my garden during my absence; much as I hated leaving it to other hands I felt that I must get away or I should begin to scream upon the hills of Ephesus. I went down to Smyrna without much idea of what I should do after that, but when I got there I found a ship bound for Baku, so, thinking I might as well go there as anywhere else, I got on board and we sailed that night. I don’t want to give you a tedious account of my journey; I will only tell you that it did me all the good in the world, and that I walked up to Ephesus one evening in the late autumn with my toothbrush in my pocket and real home-coming excitement in my heart. There was the little house; there was my garden, showing quite a fair amount of colour for the time of year; there was MacPherson sitting outside, gravely playing his interminable Patience. The puppy—puppy no longer, but a dog of almost inconceivable ugliness—rushed out barking, and seized the ankle of my trousers in its joy. MacPherson looked up.
“‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘Evening.’
“‘Evening,’ I replied, and sat down.
“‘I believe this Patience is coming out,’ he said presently.
“‘Is it?’ I answered, vastly amused.
“‘Yes,’ said MacPherson, ‘if I could only get the three I should do it. Ah!’ and he made a little pounce, and shifted some cards. ‘Done it,’ he announced in a tone of mild triumph, adding regretfully, ‘now it won’t come out again for at least a week.’
“‘That’s a pity,’ I said.
“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I reckon it comes out about once in every hundred times. Garden’s all right, isn’t it?’
“‘Splendid,’ I said; ‘I was just looking at it. How’s your digging?’
“‘That’s all right, too. Glad you’re back.’