methodical as a machine in everything he did, so the plants were fed
with the regularity of hospital patients, and flourished accordingly.
To-day he was in pursuit of slugs. He followed up one row, and down the
next, slaying with the ruthlessness of fate.

The general effect of his garden was rather striking. He laid out each
bed in the shape of an arithmetical figure. The pansy beds were in
figure eights, the nasturtiums were pruned and ordered into stubby
figure ones, while the asters and fall flowers ranged from fours
to twenties.

The Professor carried his arithmetical sense to extremes. He insisted
that figures had personality, just as people have, and it was a
favourite method of his to nickname his friends and pupils according to
a numeral. He was watching the death-throes of a slug, with scientific
indifference, as his son-in-law approached him, carrying a
wide-brimmed hat.

"Professor Parkhurst, your daughter desires you to put on your hat. You
forgot it."

"Oh, yes. Thank you!"

"I should like the opportunity of a few words with you, sir, if you can
spare the time."

"Well, I cannot. My time is very precious. If you desire to walk along
with me while I destroy these slugs, I will listen to what you say."

He pursued his course, and Jarvis, perforce, followed.