At his lodgings Mr. Dunn discovered an even more callous indifference to Mr. Potts and his interests. The landlady, under the impression that in Mr. Dunn she beheld a prospective lodger, at first received him with that deferential reserve which is the characteristic of respectable lodging-house keepers in that city of respectable lodgers and respectable lodging-house keepers. When, however, she learned the real nature of Mr. Dunn's errand, she became immediately transformed. In a voice shrill with indignation she repudiated Mr. Potts and his affairs, and seemed chiefly concerned to re-establish her own reputation for respectability, which she seemed to consider as being somewhat shattered by that of her lodger. Mr. Dunn was embarrassed both by her volubility and by her obvious determination to fasten upon him a certain amount of responsibility for the character and conduct of Mr. Potts.
"Do you know where Mr. Potts is now, and have you any idea when he may return?" inquired Mr. Dunn, seizing a fortunate pause.
"Am I no' juist tellin' ye," cried the landlady, in her excitement reverting to her native South Country dialect, "that I keep nae coont o' Mr. Potts' stravagins? An' as to his return, I ken naething aboot that an' care less. He's paid what he's been owing me these three months an' that's all I care aboot him."
"I am glad to hear that," said Mr. Dunn heartily.
"An' glad I am tae, for it's feared I was for my pay a month back."
"When did he pay up?" inquired Mr. Dunn, scenting a clue.
"A week come Saturday,--or was it Friday?--the day he came in with a young man, a friend of his. And a night they made of it, I remember," replied the landlady, recovering command of herself and of her speech under the influence of Mr. Dunn's quiet courtesy.
"Did you know the young man that was with him?"
"Yes, it was young Cameron. He had been coming about a good deal."
"Oh, indeed! And have you seen Mr. Cameron since?"
"No; he never came except in company with Mr. Potts."
And with this faint clue Mr. Dunn was forced to content himself, and to begin a systematic search of Cameron's haunts in the various parts of the town. It was Martin, his little quarter-back, that finally put him on the right track. He had heard Cameron's pipes not more than an hour ago at his lodgings in Morningside Road.
"But what do you want of Cameron these days?" inquired the young Canadian. "There's nothing on just now, is there, except this infernal grind?"
Dunn hesitated. "Oh, I just want him. In fact, he has got into some trouble."
"There you are!" exclaimed Martin in disgust. "Why in thunder should you waste time on him? You've taken enough trouble with him this winter already. It's his own funeral, ain't it?"
Dunn looked at him a half moment in surprise. "Well, you can't go back on a fellow when he's down, can you?"
"Look here, Dunn, I've often thought I'd give you a little wise advice. This sounds bad, I know, but there's a lot of blamed rot going around this old town just on this point. When a fellow gets on the bum and gets into a hole he knows well that there'll be a lot of people tumbling over each other to get him out, hence he deliberately and cheerfully slides in. If he knew he'd have to scramble out himself he wouldn't be so blamed keen to get in. If he's in a hole let him frog it for awhile, by Jingo! He's hitting the pace, let him take his bumps! He's got to take 'em sooner or later, and better sooner than later, for the sooner he takes 'em the quicker he'll learn. Bye-bye! I know you think I'm a semi-civilised Colonial. I ain't; I'm giving you some wisdom gained from experience. You can't swim by hanging on to a root, you bet!"
Dunn listened in silence, then replied slowly, "I say, old chap, there's something in that. My governor said something like that some time ago: 'A trainer's business is to train his men to do without him.'"
"There you are!" cried Martin. "That's philosophy! Mine's just horse sense."
"Still," said Dunn thoughtfully, "when a chap's in you've got to lend a hand; you simply can't stand and look on." Dunn's words, tone, and manner revealed the great, honest heart of human sympathy which he carried in his big frame.
"Oh, hang it," cried Martin, "I suppose so! Guess I'll go along with you. I can't forget you pulled me out, too."
"Thanks, old chap," cried Dunn, brightening up, "but you're busy, and--"
"Busy! By Jingo, you'd think so if you'd watch me over night and hear my brain sizzle. But come along, I'm going to stay with you!"
But Dunn's business was private, and could be shared with no one.
It was difficult to check his friend's newly-aroused ardour. "I say, old chap," he said, "you really don't need to come along. I can do--"
"Oh, go to blazes! I know you too well! Don't you worry about me!
You've got me going, and I'm in on this thing; so come along!"
Then Dunn grew firm. "Thanks, awfully, old man," he said, "but it's a thing I'd rather do alone, if you don't mind."
"Oh!" said Martin. "All right! But say, if you need me I'm on.
You're a great old brick, though! Tra-la!"
As Martin had surmised, Dunn found Cameron in his rooms. He was lying upon his bed enjoying the luxury of a cigarette. "Hello!
Come right in, old chap!" he cried, in gay welcome. "Have a--no, you won't have a cigarette--have a pipe?"
Dunn gazed at him, conscious of a rising tide of mingled emotions, relief, wrath, pity, disgust. "Well, I'll be hanged!" at last he said slowly. "But you've given us a chase! Where in the world have you been?"
"Been? Oh, here and there, enjoying my emancipation from the thralldom in which doubtless you are still sweating."
"And what does that mean exactly?"
"Mean? It means that I've cut the thing,--notebooks, lectures, professors, exams, 'the hale hypothick,' as our Nannie would say at home."
"Oh rot, Cameron! You don't mean it?"
"Circumspice. Do you behold any suggestion of knotted towels and the midnight oil?"
