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“I am living a more or less retired life just now, Mr. Ashton-Kirk,” said Campe, “and make it a rule to receive no one. But,” and here his gaze went to Scanlon, “since you are a friend of Mr. Scanlon’s, and are on the ground, it would hardly do,” and here he smiled, though faintly, “to turn you away.”

“Kirk,” said Scanlon, “has been my friend for years. He’s quite a fellow in his way and has been of service to many folks, who were ready to put up their hands and quit. Now, here’s your little matter,” eagerly: “he could take hold of that, and——”

But the voice of Ashton-Kirk broke in on him swiftly, but with a smoothness that covered its haste.

“Our friend Scanlon,” said he, smilingly, “is something of an enthusiast. He has too much confidence in my little array of historical incident. But,” and his singular eyes looked steadily into those of Campe, “if I can be of any assistance to you in the memoirs which you mean to prepare, you may command me. I shall be only too glad.”

“That’s what I thought,” stated Scanlon, blowing his nose and growing very red. “I know you’ve got this historical stuff stuffed in till it’s over your ears; so what’s more natural than that you should give Campe a lift?”