There was no mistaking those austere features and that goatee
beard. It was my old cross-grained companion, Professor
Summerlee.

"What!" he cried. "Don't tell me that _you_ have had one of
these preposterous telegrams for oxygen?"

I exhibited it.

"Well, well! I have had one too, and, as you see, very much
against the grain, I have acted upon it. Our good friend is as
impossible as ever. The need for oxygen could not have been so
urgent that he must desert the usual means of supply and
encroach upon the time of those who are really busier than
himself. Why could he not order it direct?"

I could only suggest that he probably wanted it at once.

"Or thought he did, which is quite another matter. But it is
superfluous now for you to purchase any, since I have this
considerable supply."

"Still, for some reason he seems to wish that I should bring
oxygen too. It will be safer to do exactly what he tells me."

Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles and remonstrances from
Summerlee, I ordered an additional tube, which was placed with
the other in his motor-car, for he had offered me a lift to
Victoria.