I don't enter upon duties till end of October, and am at present revelling in mathematical freedom.

There's a great deal to tell .-- Sincerely yours, THOMAS MICKLETHWAITE.' Having no occupation for his morning, Barfoot went at once to the obscure little street by Primrose Hill where his friend was lodging.

He reached the house about noon, and, as he had anticipated, found the mathematician deep in study.

Micklethwaite was a man of forty, bent in the shoulders, sallow, but not otherwise of unhealthy appearance; he had a merry countenance, a great deal of lank, disorderly hair, and a beard that reached to the middle of his waistcoat.

Everard's acquaintance with him dated from ten years ago, when Micklethwaite had acted as his private tutor in mathematics.
The room was a musty little back-parlour on the ground floor.
'Quiet, perfectly quiet,' declared its occupant, 'and that's all I care for.