Waddington's rooms. The latter had just arrived from the
office.
"Mr. Waddington," Burton exclaimed, "the little tree on which the beans
grew--where is it?"
Mr. Waddington was taken aback.
"But I picked all the beans," he replied. "There were only the leaves
left."
"Never mind that!" Burton cried. "It is the leaves we want! The
tree--where is it? Quick! I want to feel myself absolutely safe."
Mr. Waddington's face was blank.
"You have heard the translation of those sheets?"
"I have," Burton answered hastily. "I will tell you all about it
directly--as soon as you have brought me the tree."
Mr. Waddington had turned a little pale.
"I gave it to a child in the street, on my way home from Idlemay House,"
he declared. "There was no sign of any more beans coming and I had more
than enough to carry."
Burton sank into a chair and groaned.
"We are lost," he exclaimed, "unless you can find that child! Our cure
is only temporary. We need a leaf each from the tree. I have only
eight months and two weeks more!"
Mr. Waddington staggered to a seat. He produced his own beans and
counted them eagerly.
"A little under eleven months!" he muttered. "We must find the tree!"
CHAPTER XV
THE PROFESSOR INSISTS
Crouched over his writing table, with sheets of manuscript on every side
of him, Burton worked like a slave at his novel.
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