he said, still keeping his arm tightly linked in the Professor's.
"To the where?" said Mr. Higginson, recognising the name. "What do you want with me?" He was not exactly dragging back, but sending signals of resistance through the nervous gestures he made.
"Simply to talk with you; only ten minutes, Mr. Brassington."
"I am not Brassington."
"Yes. I know. At least, I must see you for ten minutes," said Jimmy, rapidly making for the fine great portal of the Rockingham. That great portal meant safety and retreat, and it was not one hundred yards up the broad pavement.
Professor Higginson yielded. They went past the magnificent porter, through the lounge; they were stared at a little, but no more.
Jimmy took his capture to a corner of the smoking-room, sat him down in comfort, and asked him what he drank.
The Professor, with a confused memory of a recent experience, muttered, "A little ale," but when it came he did not drink it, for ale was something which he could not touch. Jimmy, drinking brandy, spoke to him in a low tone, and with enormous earnestness.
