In Gresson's eyes I must seem as harmless as a child.
We spent the better part of a day at Colonsay, and Gresson, so far as his duties allowed, stuck to me like a limpet.

Before I went ashore I wrote out a telegram for Amos.

I devoted a hectic hour to the _Pilgrim's Progress_, but I could not compose any kind of intelligible message with reference to its text.

We had all the same edition--the one in the _Golden Treasury_ series--so I could have made up a sort of cipher by referring to lines and pages, but that would have taken up a dozen telegraph forms and seemed to me too elaborate for the purpose.
So I sent this message: _Ochterlony, Post Office, Kyle, I hope to spend part of holiday near you and to see you if boat's programme permits.

Are any good cargoes waiting in your neighbourhood?
Reply Post Office, Oban._ It was highly important that Gresson should not see this, but it was the deuce of a business to shake him off.