Bang! What! not a feather drops?... Bang! Quack! Quack! Bang! Bang!... Splash!... Quack! Quack! Quack!
That is the story––all except for Sandford’s derisive laugh.
“What’d I tell you?” he exults. “Wiped your eye for you that time, didn’t I?” 306
“How in the world I missed––” It is all that I can say. “They looked as big as––as suspended tubs.”
“Buck-fever,” explains Sandford, laconically.
“That’s all right.” I feel my fighting-blood rising, and I swear with a mighty wordless oath that I’ll be avenged for that laugh. “The day is young yet. If, before night, I don’t wipe both your eyes, and wipe them good––”
“I know you will, old man.” Sandford is smiling understandingly, and in a flash I return the smile with equal understanding. “And when you do, laugh at me, laugh long and loud.” 307
Chapter XI––The Cold Gray Dawn
At a quarter of twelve o’clock a week later, I slip out of my office sheepishly, and, walking a half-block, take the elevator to the fifth floor of the Exchange Building, on the corner. The white enamel of Sandford’s tiny box of an office glistens, as I enter the door, and the tiling looks fresh and clean, as though scrubbed an hour before.
“Doctor’s back in the laboratory,” smiles the white-uniformed attendant, as she grasps my identity.