’I don’t care to talk about it here.  Let us go somewhere and eat together.  I invite you to have dinner with me—­or lunch, as I suppose you would call it, in your aristocratic language.’

‘No, you had better have lunch with me.  Come to my club.’

‘Confound your impudence!  Am I not your father in mathematics?’

’Be so good as to put on a decent pair of trousers, and brush your hair.  Ah, here is your Trilinear production.  I’ll look over it whilst you make yourself presentable.’

‘There’s a bad misprint in the Preface.  Let me show you—­’

‘It’s all the same to me, my dear fellow.’

But Micklethwaite was not content until he had indicated the error, and had talked for five minutes about the absurdities that it involved.

‘How do you suppose I got the thing published?’ he then asked.  ’Old Bennet, the Sheffield headmaster, is security for loss if the book doesn’t pay for itself in two years’ time.  Kind of him, wasn’t it?  He pressed the offer upon me, and I think he’s prouder of the book than I am myself.  But it’s quite remarkable how kind people are when one is fortunate.  I fancy a great deal of nonsense is talked about the world’s enviousness.  Now as soon as it got known that I was coming to this post in London, people behaved to me with surprising good nature all round.  Old Bennet talked in quite an affectionate strain.  “Of course,” he said, “I have long known that you ought to be in a better place than this; your payment is altogether inadequate; if it had depended upon me, I should long ago have increased it.  I truly rejoice that you have found a more fitting sphere for your remarkable abilities.”  No; I maintain that the world is always ready to congratulate you with sincerity, if you will only give it a chance.’

’Very gracious of you to give it the chance.  But, by-the-bye, how did it come about?’

’Yes, I ought to tell you that.  Why, about a year ago, I wrote an answer to a communication signed by a Big Gun in one of the scientific papers.  It was a question in Probability—­you wouldn’t understand it.  My answer was printed, and the Big Gun wrote privately to me—­a very flattering letter.  That correspondence led to my appointment; the Big Gun exerted himself on my behalf.  The fact is, the world is bursting with good nature.’

‘Obviously.  And how long did it take you to write this little book?’

’Oh, only about seven years—­the actual composition.  I never had much time to myself, you must remember.’

’You’re a good soul, Thomas.  Go and equip yourself for civilized society.’

To the club they repaired on foot.  Micklethwaite would talk of anything but that which his companion most desired to hear.

‘There are solemnities in life,’ he answered to an impatient question, ’things that can’t be spoken of in the highway.  When we have eaten, let us go to your flat, and there I will tell you everything.’