"Then the mistake is mine. It's more interesting than ever. This
puts me on my mettle, Gammon. Don't lose courage. I have a wonderful
scent in this kind of thing. Above all, not a word to anybody--you
understand the importance of _that_?"
"That's all right."
"I have a theory--oh, yes, there's a theory. Without a theory
nothing can be done. I am working, Gammon, on the scientific
principle of induction."
"Oh, are you!"
"Strictly; it has never failed me yet--I can't ay now; appointment
at ten-thirty. But you all hear from me in a day or two."
"I say," inquired Gammon, "what's your dress now?"
"Address?--oh, address letters to this place. They'll be all right."
Another fortnight passed. It was now early in November; the weather
gloomy, and by no means favourable to evening strolls. Gammon wanted
much to see both Polly and Mrs. Clover; he had all but made up his
mind to write to both of them, yet could not decide on the proper
tone in either case. Was he to be humble to Mrs. Clover? Should he
beg pardon of Polly? That kind of thing did not come easily to him.
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