"Are you the representative of this rather peculiar person, may I ask?"

"It would be a dull world, except for peculiar persons," observed the
man on the settee philosophically. "I've seen very many peculiar persons
lately by the simple process of coming here day after day. No, I'm
not Mr. Livius' representative. I'm only a town-bound and interested
observer of his."

"There you've got the better of me," said Average Jones. "I was rather
anxious to see him myself."

The other looked speculatively at the trim, keen-faced young man. "Yet
you do not look like a Latin scholar," he observed; "if you'll pardon
the comment."

"Nor do you," retorted Jones; "if the apology is returnable."

"I suppose not," owned the other with a sigh. "I've often thought that
my classical capacity would gain more recognition if I didn't have a
skin like Bob Fitzsimmons and hands like Ty Cobb. Nevertheless, I'm
in and of the department of Latin of Johns Hopkins University. Name,
Warren. Sit down."

"Thanks," said the other. "Name, Jones. Profession, advertising advisor.
Object, curiosity."

"A. V. R. E. Jones; better known as Average Jones, I believe?"

"'Experto crede! Being dog Latin for 'You seem to know all about it."'
The new-comer eyed his vis-a-vis. "Perhaps you--er--know Mr. Robert
Bertram," he drawled.

"Oculus--the eye--tauri--of the bull. Bull's eye!" said the freckled
one, with a grin. "I'd heard of your exploits through Bertram, and
thought probably you'd follow the bait contained in my letter to him."

"Nothing wrong with your nerve-system, is there?" inquired Average
Jones with mock anxiety. "Now that I'm here, where is L. Livius. And so
forth?"

"Elegantly but uncomfortably housed with Colonel Ridgway Graeme in his
ancestral barrack on Carteret Street."

"Is this Colonel Graeme a friend of yours?"

"Friend and--foe, tried and true. We meet twice a week, usually at
his house, to squabble over his method of Latin pronunciation and his
construction of the ablative case. He's got a theory of the ablative
absolute," said Warren with a scowl, "fit to fetch Tacitus howling from
the shades."

"A scholar, then?"

"A very fine and finished scholar, though a faddist of the rankest type.
Speaks Latin as readily as he does English."

"Old?"

"Over seventy."

"Rich?"

"Not in money. Taxes on his big place keep him pinched; that and his
passion for buying all kinds of old and rare books. He's got, perhaps
an income of