the writing on the bone. Tomorrow I shall start on my search in the museum. I thought that perhaps—and your friend Doctor Mclntyre said that you—"
That was just like McIntyre; flute or camel's bone—I never played one or read the other,—but, in both cases, McIntyre stamped me as an authority. I therefore assured Mr. Jennings of Kalamazoo that as long as I had lived in New York I had never heard of the camel bone.
He was very sorry and our conversation began to lag until I finally asked him:
"How do you like New York?"
"It seems rather a noisy town for quiet study," replied Jennings, "and the arrangement of the streets is somewhat strange. One seems to take the wrong cars continually."
I was afraid he might begin to talk about Modsahabat and Byssus again, and, as I did not care to display further ignorance, I began to draw an elaborate map for him, showing the nearest and safest way to the museum.
Finally I explained the route with all its street car, subway, elevated and bus connections, and as I happened to have a ticket for a musical comedy which I could not use on account of my headache, I offered it to him, apologizing for the fact that it would be rather a frivolous entertainment for a man of his mental calibre, but then—this was New York.
He was kind enough to accept the ticket, remarking at the same time that while it had nothing to do with his studies and that he was especially opposed to the shameless display of hosiery which one sees in such entertainments, out of mere curiosity he would look in for a few minutes.
Before he departed he promised to keep me informed about his progress with the Modsahabat.
Two days later, one of my cousins called on me. He is a fruitgrower on a large ranch near a small town and his principal accomplishments are high-balls and a book on "The Removal of Spiders from Young Peach Plants," which he considers one of the best books ever written.
But when cousin Edward comes to New York he generally forgets all about spiders and peach plants and thinks mostly of his other accomplishment. He is especially interested in the night life. And as he stoutly maintains that he can not get along without me on his night trips, his visits generally mean numerous highballs and splitting headaches for me.
This time, as usual, I had to accompany him. He managed to find a statuesque blonde with a raucous voice, who chewed a toothpick and was inordinately fond of champagne at five dollars the bottle. While Edward was telling her about crops and spiders, she flirted with a college student at the next table.
I was bored and felt extremely de trop when suddenly I saw something that attracted my attention. There in one of the stalls, with his arms around a very thin lady, sat Jennings from Kalamazoo, freckles and all.
When he saw me he came over to our table, his steps rather insecure, and he expressed great pleasure at seeing me.
