"Didn't they call me a swindler down there at your museum?" he
demanded.

I admitted that I had heard the term applied. Then I made a clean
breast of the matter, telling him that it was I who had doubted; that
my chief, Professor Farrago, had sent me against my will, and that I
was ready and glad to admit that he, Mr. Halyard, was a benefactor of
the human race.

"Bosh!" he said. "What good does a confounded wobbly, bandy-toed bird
do to the human race?"

But he was pleased, nevertheless; and presently he asked me, not
unamiably, to punish his claret again.

"I'm done for," he said; "good things to eat and drink are no good to
me. Some day I'll get mad enough to have a fit, and then--"

He paused to yawn.

"Then," he continued, "that little nurse of mine will drink up my
claret and go back to civilization, where people are polite."

Somehow or other, in spite of the fact that Halyard was an old pig,
what he said touched me. There was certainly not much left in life for
him--as he regarded life.

"I'm going to leave her this house," he said, arranging his shawls.
"She doesn't know it. I'm going to leave her my money, too. She
doesn't know that. Good Lord! What kind of a woman can she be to stand