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'Have I indeed!' A slight Irish brogue came out with the indignation. 'Two lectures this morning, frightfully boring, and I had to catch up with my reading most of this afternoon. I'm way behind with it.'

A tall, soft-spoken, former Brown University football star whose unlined forehead and vigorous appearance belie his 82 years, Hoving has a voice like Jimmy Stewart's and kindly yet authoritative manner. On his conservative gray suit is a tiny silver pin with the words "Try God." Leaning back in the comfortable desk chair at his vast, teakwood-paneled office at Tiffany's on a recent afternoon, he answers all questions thoroughly and unhesitatingly. Bond's thoughts were interrupted by rougher going under the wheels. They had crossed the lake and were on the track that led up the mountain to the huts. The cabin tilted and the machine began to climb. In five minutes they would be there. 鈥榃e are to have an interesting Ordination Service next Sunday. F. M. and I. U., Converts from Muhammadanism, tried and true, are to be appointed Deacons. We expect the Bishop on Thursday. He will, we hope, lay the first stone of our Mission School Building, so called,[133] on Saturday.... I have begged that the building may be very plain,鈥攄ear Mr. Baring gave the money for it.... It is a great matter for some religious instruction to be given to more than 130 boys from Heathen and Muhammadan homes.鈥橖/strong>

It was perhaps five minutes later that Major Smythe felt a curious numbness more or less in the region of his solar plexus. He looked casually down, and his whole body stiffened with horror and disbelief. A patch of his skin, about the size of a cricket ball, had turned white under his tan, and, in the center of the patch, there were three punctures, one below the other, topped by little beads of blood. Automatically, Major Smythe wiped away the blood. The holes were only the size of pinpricks. Major Smythe remembered the rising flight of the scorpionfish, and he said aloud, with awe in his voice, but without animosity, "You got me, you bastard! By God, you got me!"

I return'd into my Closet, or rather my Den of Dulness, for the Retreat of such a Student deserves not the Name of a Study. Here I cast mine Eyes on a very fine Epistle in Verse from my Friends at Cambridge; whereupon I sat me down to answer it, which was to dissuade them from Poetry, notwithstanding their great Genius towards it, express'd even in that Epistle. Which Answer be pleas'd to take as follows.