“My friends,” he remarked, “our host’s whiskey is good.  At the same time, I must not forget—­”

“You’ll have one with me, Professor,” a youth at his elbow interrupted.  “Two special whiskies, miss, if you please.”

The professor shrugged his shoulders—­it was a gesture which he wished every one to understand.  He was suffering now the penalty for a popularity which would not be denied!

“You are very kind, sir,” he said, “very kind, indeed.  As I was about to say, I must not forget that in less than half an hour I am due upon the stage.  It does not do to disappoint one’s audience, sir.  It is a poor place, this music-hall, but it is full, they tell me packed from floor to ceiling.  At eight-thirty I must show myself.”

“A marvelous turn, too, Professor,” declared one of the young men by whom he was surrounded.

“I thank you, sir,” the professor replied, turning towards the speaker, glass in hand.  “There have been others who have paid me a similar compliment; others, I may say, not unconnected with the aristocracy of your country—­not unconnected either, I might add,” he went on, “with the very highest in the land, those who from their exalted position have never failed to shower favors upon the more fortunate sons of our profession.  The science of which I am to some extent the pioneer—­not a drop more, my young friend.  Say, I’m in dead earnest this time!  No more, indeed.”

The young man in knickerbockers who had just come in banged the head of his cane upon the counter.

“You’ll never refuse me, Professor,” he asserted, confidently.  “I’m an old supporter, I am.  I’ve seen you in Blackburn and Manchester, and twice here.  Just as wonderful as ever!  And that young lady of yours, Professor, begging your pardon if she is your daughter, as no doubt she is, why, she’s a nut and no mistake.”

The professor sighed.  He was in his element but he was getting uneasy at the flight of time.

“My young friend,” he said, “your face is not familiar to me but I cannot refuse your kindly offer.  It must be the last, however, absolutely the last.”

Then Tavernake, directed here from the music-hall, pushed open the swing door and entered.  The professor set down his glass untasted.  Tavernake came slowly across the room.

“You haven’t forgotten me, then, Professor?” he remarked, holding out his hand.

The professor welcomed him a little limply; something of the bombast had gone out of his manner.  Tavernake’s arrival had reminded him of things which he had only too easily forgotten.

“This is very surprising,” he faltered, “very surprising indeed.  Do you live in these parts?”

“Not far away,” Tavernake answered.  “I saw your announcement in the papers.”

The professor nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “I am on the war-path again.  I tried resting but I got fat and lazy, and the people wouldn’t have it, sir,” he continued, recovering very quickly something of his former manner.  “The number of offers I got through my agents by every post was simply astounding—­astounding!”