and hungry to devour a victim of such eminence.
Professor Higginson did not let him take the offensive.
"Babcock," he almost shouted in his agony, "you know about letters and things?"
Babcock never looked bewildered. He nodded his head determinedly and said—
"Go on."
"Well," continued Professor Higginson, fiercely determined that the great subject should not turn up, and talking as though by steam, "letters, you know about letters, letters, hundreds and hundreds of them. Must deal with them, must deal with them this morning—now!" he almost screamed.
The heavy Babcock rapidly diagnosed the case within his mind. He forbore to exasperate the patient.
"That 's all right," he said about as soothingly as ogres can. "That 's all right. What you want is a shorthand writer."
"Two!" shouted Higginson, still dragging his companion along.
But the heavy Babcock had organising power.
"What 's the good of two?" he said contemptuously. "You haven't got two
