“Yes, it’s a poor wind, that,” said Gub-Gub. “I think you’re a fake, Jip. Who ever heard of finding a man in the middle of the ocean just by smell! I told you you couldn’t do it.”
“Look here,” said Jip, getting really angry. “You’re going to get a bite on the nose in a minute! You needn’t think that just because the Doctor won’t let us give you what you deserve, that you can be as cheeky as you like!”
“Stop quarreling!” said the Doctor—“Stop it! Life’s too short. Tell me, Jip, where do you think those smells are coming from?”
“From Devon and Wales—most of them,” said Jip—“The wind is coming that way.”
“Well, well!” said the Doctor. “You know that’s really quite remarkable—quite. I must make a note of that for my new book. I wonder if you could train me to smell as well as that. … But no—perhaps I’m better off the way I am. ‘Enough is as good as a feast,’ they say. Let’s go down to supper. I’m quite hungry.”
“So am I,” said Gub-Gub.