Meldon stretched himself in a deep chair and lit his pipe.

He had dined to his own satisfaction, eating with an appetite whetted by the long drive from the railway station.

He had before him a clear fortnight's holiday, and intended to enjoy it to the full.

Major Kent's house was comfortable; his tobacco, which Meldon smoked, was good; his yacht, the _Spindrift_, lay ready for a cruise.
"To-morrow," he said, "I shall stroll round and see my old friends.
I'm bound to do that; and, in point of fact, I want to.

It's three years since I left, and I'm longing for a look at Doyle and the rest of them.