CHAPTER XIIIIn which Drummond receives
an addition to his library
It was four days later. During that four days Drummond’s usual bright conversational powers had been limited to one word—“Stung.” And now as he drew his second pint from the cask in the corner of his room in Brook Street, he elaborated it.
“Stung in the centre and on both flanks,” he remarked morosely. “And biffed in the jaw into the bargain.”
“Still, old dear,” murmured Algy brightly—Algy’s world was bright again, now that there was no further need to postpone his marriage—“you may meet him again. You’d never really have forgiven yourself if you’d watched him passaging down a glacier. So near and yet so far, and all that sort of thing. I mean, what’s the good of a glacier, anyway? You can’t use the ice even to make a co
