There is no cause for them to linger, and they move away.

John Craig has nothing to say. The disappointment has been keen, and he
does not yet see a ray of light ahead.

Hope had such a grasp upon his soul, when he started from the hotel,
that the fall has been more disastrous.

Not so Philander Sharpe.

An evil fortune has kept him pretty quiet for quite a little while now,
and he begins to make up for it in part, chirping away at a merry rate
as they push their way along the street.

At first Doctor Chicago pays little heed to what he says, but presently
certain words catch his ear and tell him that the professor is not
merely speaking for oratorical effect or to hear himself talk.

"What's that you say, sir?" he asks.

Cheerfully Philander goes back to repeat.

"I was saying that I experienced queer sensations when I came to. They
had carried you away to some more luxurious apartment, but I was left
where I went to sleep--anything was good enough for Philander Sharpe.

"At first I was dazed; the soft murmur of the fountain came near putting
me to sleep again with its droning voice. Then I suddenly remembered
something--a charming face with the flashing eye of a fiend.