lf an hour seem all I require. It is convenient
when one has a vast amount of work to get through in a short space of
time."

"Very convenient. Just the reverse of the sleeping sickness."

"Rather! I was never fitter in my life--as I told Dick Cameron."

Aubrey Treherne glanced at the bright burning eyes and flushed face--the
feverish blood showing, even through the tan of Africa.

"Yes, you look jolly fit," he said. "Who is Dick Cameron?"

"A great chum of mine. We met, as boys in Edinburgh, and were at school
together. He is the son of Colonel Cameron of Transvaal fame, killed
while leading a charge. Dick has done awfully well in the medical,
passed all necessary exams, and taken every possible degree. He is now
looking out for a practice, and meanwhile a big man in London has sent
him out to investigate one of these queer water friction
cures--professes to cure cataract and cancer and every known disease, by
simply sitting you in a tub, and rubbing you down with a dish-cloth.
Dick Cameron says--Hullo! Why are we talking of Dick Cameron? I thought
I was telling you about the 'cello."

"You are telling me about the 'cello," said Aubrey, quietly. "But in
order to arrive at the 'cello we had to hear about your visit to the
publishers with your mass of manuscript, which resulted from having
acquired in Central Africa the useful habit of not needing more than
half an hour of sleep in the twenty-four; which, possibly, Dick Cameron
did not consider sufficient. Doctors are apt to be faddy in such
matters. Whereupon you, naturally, told him you were perfectly fit."

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Ronnie. "Am I spinning rather a yarn?"

"Not at all, my dear fellow. Do not hurry. We have the whole evening
before us--night, if necessary. You can put in your half-hour at any
time, I suppose; and I can dispense with sleep for once. It is not often
one has the chance of spending a night in the company of a noted
author, an African traveller straight from the jungle, and the man who
has married one's favourite cousin. I am all delighted attention. What
did your friend Dick Cameron say?"

"Well, I met him as I was hurrying back to the hotel, carrying the
Infant, who did not appear to advantage in the exceedingly plain brown
canvas bag which was all they could give me at Zimmermann's. When I get
home I shall consult Helen, and we shall order the best case
procurable."

"Naturally. Probably Helen will advise a bassinet by night,