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John Wood was sitting at a large ormolu writing-table as the visitor entered, and he rose and put down his pen.

"You came in spite of the weather? Stout fellow! Sit down, Mr. Holland. And before you ask me, I will gladly undertake the writing of the articles you referred to in your telegram. I need all the publicity I can get for my scheme, and I am a shameless advertiser."

They discussed the articles in detail, and Spike faithfully conveyed all the prejudices, requirements as to length and subject that Syme had impressed upon him.

The squat lady with the moustache brought wine and coffee, with wafer-like biscuits.

"How quiet and peaceful you are here!" said Spike enviously. "I thought you were a bit nutty, living in Wenduyne through the winter. What a place to write!"

John Wood smiled.

"I won't take you up to see the quiet-disturbers. They are enjoying their siesta."

"Have you any children here?" asked Spike in astonishment, and Wood nodded.

"Thirty," he said. "Three floors full." He pointed to the stairway that led to the upper part of the building. "I have only the quite healthy ones here. The sanatorium is at the back of the town."