He recovered himself, with the customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned the talk to the object of Ovid's visit.
"So you have taken my advice," he said.

"You're going to Canada, and you want to get at what I can tell you before you start.

Here's my journal.
It will jog my memory, and help us both." His writing materials were placed on a movable table, screwed to his chair.

Near them lay a shabby-looking book, guarded by a lock.

Ten minutes after he had opened his journal, and had looked here and there through the pages, his hard intellect had grasped all that it required.
Steadily and copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid's mind; without a single digression from beginning to end, and with the most mercilessly direct reference to the traveller's practical wants.
Not a word escaped him, relating to national character or to the beauties of Nature.