"Do," said Septimus, shivering. "Do you mind if I go back to bed?"

"Do anything, except go to sleep," said Sypher. "Look here. I'm sorry if I
disturbed you, but I couldn't wait. I'm off to the office and heaven knows
when I shall be back. I want to talk to you about this."

He sat on the foot of the bed and threw the proofs of the gun book on to
Septimus's body, vaguely outlined beneath the clothes. In the gray November
light--Zora's carefully chosen curtains and blinds had not been
drawn--Sypher, pink and shiny, his silk hat (which he wore) a resplendent
miracle of valetry, looked an urban yet roseate personification of Dawn. He
seemed as eager as Septimus was supine.

"I've sat up half the night over this thing," said he, "and I really
believe you've got it."

"Got what?" asked Septimus.

"_It_. The biggest thing on earth, bar Sypher's Cure."

"Wait till I've worked out my railway carriages," said Septimus.

"Your railway carriages! Good gracious! Haven't you any sense of what
you're doing? Here you've worked out a scheme that may revolutionize naval
gunnery, and you talk rot about railway carriages."

"I'm glad you like the book," said Septimus.

"Are you going to publish it?"