And then the Secretary advised the Student to take a ticket to the Centre of Africa—­and the Student followed his advice.  But the day before the boat started, the Student once more appeared.

“I am afraid,” said he, “I must ask you for the return of my money.  I find that it will be useless for me to go to the Centre of Africa, as the Sun is about to cease giving warmth.”

“Dear me!” cried the Secretary, “I was under the impression that the Sun was timed to last about one hundred millions of years?”

“It may have been in the far distant past,” returned the Student, sadly, “but recent statistics fix the termination of the Sun’s existence at a much nearer date.  There is no doubt that the Sun will not last more than four millions of years, or five millions at longest.  Now give me my money!”

And (of course) the bullion was promptly returned.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  BROKEN BONDS.

La France.  “IS IT POSSIBLE!—­BUT SIX MONTHS AGO!—­AND NOW—­“]

* * * * *

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS.

NO.  XII.—­TO PLAUSIBILITY.

DEAR OLD PLAU,

Hear you have been seen about again with GENIALITY.  Poor GENIALITY, it may be admitted, is often something of a fool when he is by himself, but when you and he begin to hunt in couples, you are a deadly pair.  I once knew a St. Bernard dog—­you will perceive the analogy by-and-by—­who lived on terms of friendship with a Skye terrier.  By himself Rufus was a mild and inoffensive giant.  He adored the house-cat, and used to help her, in a ponderous way, with the care of her numerous family.  Many a time have I seen him placidly extended before a fire, while puss used his shaggy body as a sleeping box, and once he was observed to help that anxious tabby-mother with the toilet of her kittens by licking them carefully all over.  At every lick of Rufus’s huge prehensile tongue a kitten was lifted bodily into the air, only, however, to descend washed and unharmed to the ground.  But out of doors, in the society of Flick, Rufus’s whole nature seemed to change.  He became a demon-exterminator of cats.  Led on by his yelping little friend, he chased them fiercely to their last retreats, and, if he caught them, masticated them without mercy.  Once too, on a morning that had been appointed for a big covert-shoot, I noticed this strangely assorted pair come into the breakfast-room panting and dirty.  They were not usually afoot before breakfast.  What could their condition mean?  A flustered keeper arrived shortly afterwards and explained everything.  “Them two dogs o’ yourn, Sir,” he said, “the big ’un and the little ’un, ’ave run all the coverts through.  There’s not a pheasant left in ’em.  They’re sailin’ all over the country.”

[Illustration]

The truth was that Flick had organised the expedition with extraordinary secrecy and cunning.  He had persuaded Rufus to join him, and the result was that we shot forty pheasants instead of the three hundred on which we had counted.