u're a good fellow, Barret; I knew you would come; but you look warm.
Have you been running?" asked Mabberly, opening the door of his lodging
to his friend. "Come in: I have news for you. Giles Jackman has agreed
to go. Isn't that a comfort? for, besides his rare and valuable
sporting qualities, he is more than half a doctor, which will be
important, you know, if any of us should get ill or come to grief. Sit
down and we'll talk it over."

Now, it was a telegram from Bob Mabberly which led John Barret to
suddenly undertake a sixty miles' ride that day, and which was thus the
indirect cause of the little old lady being run down. The telegram ran
as follows:--

"Come instanter. As you are. Clothes unimportant. Yacht engaged.
Crew also. Sail, without fail, Thursday. Plenty more to say when we
meet."

"Now, you see, Bob, with your usual want of precision, or care, or some
such quality--"

"Stop, Barret. Do be more precise in the use of language. How can the
want of a thing be a _quality_?"

"You are right, Bob. Let me say, then, that with your usual unprecision
and carelessness you sent me a telegram, which could not reach me till
late on Wednesday night, after all trains were gone, telling me that you
sail, without fail, on Thursday, but leaving me to guess whether you
meant Thursday morning or evening."

"How stupid! My dear fellow, I forgot that!"

"Just so. Well to make sure of losing no time, instead of coming here
by trains, which, as you know, are very awkward and slow in our
neighbourhood, besides necessitating long waits and several changes, I
just packed my portmanteau, gun, rods, etcetera, and gave directions to
have them forwarded here by the first morning train, then took a few
winks of sleep, and at the first glimmer of daylight mounted my wheel
and set off across country as straight as country roads would permit
of--and--here I am."

"True, Barret, and in good time for tea too. We don't sail till
morning, for the tide does not serve till six o'clock, so that will give
us plenty of time to put the finishing touches to our plans, allow your
things to arrive, and permit of our making--or, rather, renewing--our
acquaintance with Giles Jackman. You remember him, don't you?"

"Yes, faintly. He was a broad, sturdy, good-humoured, reckless, little
boy when I last saw him at old Blatherby's school."

"Just so. Your portrait is correct. I saw him last month, after a good
many years' int