Forrest closed the door and went on along a passage that was like a tunnel. Narrow, iron-barred openings, like the slits for archers in medieval castles, dimly lighted the way. Another door gave access to a long, low room, beam-ceilinged, with a fireplace in which an ox could have been roasted. A huge stump, resting on a bed of coals, blazed brightly. Two billiard tables, several card tables, lounging corners, and a miniature bar constituted the major furnishing. Two young men chalked their cues and returned Forrest’s greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Naismith,” he bantered. “ — More material for the Breeders’ Gazette?”

Naismith, a youngish man of thirty, with glasses, smiled sheepishly and cocked his head at his companion.