Part 17 (1/2)

”See,” she said, ”let us keep tokens. I'll keep the head and you the tail.

If ever you want me badly send me the tail, and I'll come to you from any distance--and if I want you I'll send you the head.”

”I'll come to you from the ends of the earth,” said Septimus.

So he went home a happy man, with his tail in his pocket.

The next morning, about eight o'clock, just as he was sinking into his first sleep, he was awakened through a sudden dream of battle by a series of revolver shots. Wondering whether Wiggleswick had gone mad or was attempting an elaborate and painful mode of suicide, he leaped out of bed and rushed to the landing.

”What's the matter?”

”h.e.l.lo! You're up at last!” cried Clem Sypher, appearing at the bottom of the stairs, sprucely attired for the city, and wearing a flower in the b.u.t.tonhole of his overcoat. ”I've had to break open the front door in order to get in at all, and then I tried shooting the bell for your valet. Can I come up?”

”Do,” said Septimus, s.h.i.+vering. ”Do you mind if I go back to bed?”

”Do anything, except go to sleep,” said Sypher. ”Look here. I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I couldn't wait. I'm off to the office and heaven knows when I shall be back. I want to talk to you about this.”

He sat on the foot of the bed and threw the proofs of the gun book on to Septimus's body, vaguely outlined beneath the clothes. In the gray November light--Zora's carefully chosen curtains and blinds had not been drawn--Sypher, pink and s.h.i.+ny, his silk hat (which he wore) a resplendent miracle of valetry, looked an urban yet roseate personification of Dawn. He seemed as eager as Septimus was supine.

”I've sat up half the night over this thing,” said he, ”and I really believe you've got it.”

”Got what?” asked Septimus.

”_It_. The biggest thing on earth, bar Sypher's Cure.”

”Wait till I've worked out my railway carriages,” said Septimus.

”Your railway carriages! Good gracious! Haven't you any sense of what you're doing? Here you've worked out a scheme that may revolutionize naval gunnery, and you talk rot about railway carriages.”

”I'm glad you like the book,” said Septimus.

”Are you going to publish it?”

”Of course.”

”Ask your publisher how much he'll take to let you off your bargain.”

”I'm publis.h.i.+ng it at my own expense,” said Septimus, in the middle of a yawn.

”And presenting it gratis to the governments of the world?”

”Yes. I might send them copies,” said Septimus. ”It's a good idea.”

Clem Sypher thrust his hat to the back of his head, and paced the room from the wash-stand past the dressing-table to the wardrobe and back again.

”Well, I'm hanged!” said he.

Septimus asked why.

”I thought I was a philanthropist,” said Sypher, ”but by the side of you I'm a vulture. Has it not struck you that, if the big gun is what I think, any government on earth would give you what you like to ask for the specification?”