Bailly's wrinkled face approved.
"You wouldn't be coming at me this way if there was any doubt. You shall have your novel. I'm afraid——"
He paused, laughing.
"I mean, my task with you is about done. You've more brain than a dinosaur. It is variously wrinkled where once it was like a babe's. Except for the French, you should handle your courses without superhuman effort. Don't ever let me hear of your getting a condition. Your next schedule will come from Stringham and Green."
He limped to a bookcase and drew out a volume bound in red.
"Without entirely wasting your time, you may amuse yourself with that."
"'Treasure Island.'"
George frowned doubtfully.
"We studied something about this man. If he's good enough to get in the school books maybe he isn't just what I'm looking for to-night."
"Have you ever perused Nick Carter, or, perhaps Old Sleuth?" Bailly asked.