"Good Lord!" he murmured.
The captain touched him on the shoulder.
"Go home with your wife, Professor," he said in a kindly voice. "You've worked too hard. Nobody'll hear about your little escapade."
The Professor did as he was bid. He took ten grains of veronal and slept the next day until noon. He dressed, went downstairs, and took his accustomed place at the luncheon table.
His wife was mixing the dressing for the salad. She looked up.
"Barker!" she said.
The Professor was all attention.
"Yes, dearest?" he asked in a small voice.
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Yes, dearest. Anything! Anything!"
His wife smiled—and to his dying day the Professor did not know if the smile was sweet or bitter.
"Would you mind, Barker, the next time you live through a period of the past, picking out a character from Bishop Taylor's 'Lives of the Saints'?"
And she rang the bell for the maid to bring in hot plates.
