once he has an idea. So when he marched into my office that morning,—there didn't happen to be any clients at the moment—I was curious to know what he was after. I could see that he was in good spirits to begin with.
"Hollo, Dick!" said he. "I hope that's not a brief that I'm interrupting."
It was in reality a letter to my father, thanking him for a very opportune remittance. But Idid not think it necessary to explain, and I got it out of sight, saying, carelessly: "Never mind, old fellow! I'm not pressed for time."
John grinned, in a way I did not altogether like, and sat down on the arm of a chair.
"Well, Dick," he said, without more ado, "where do you suppose you and I are likely to be, week after next at this time?"
"If we are together," I replied, "we are likely to be in this office."
"You're out there!" he cried. "Better guess again."
"Perhaps you know more of my future
