I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of his own accord.
It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast.

The landlady had become so accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared.

With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was ready.

Then I picked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast.

One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it.
Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life," and it attempted to show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic examination of all that came in his way.