"The very image of him," he went on, "when first I met him."
Something told me that in spite of his grey hair he was not talking of David Garrick after all.
"Like who?" I said in some disappointment.
"A. E. Barrett."
I tried to think of a reply, both graceful and witty. The only one I could think of was, "Oh?"
"It's extraordinary. If your hair were just a little longer the likeness would be perfect."
I thought of offering to go away now and come back in a month's time. Anyway, it would be an excuse for going now.
"I first knew him at Cambridge," he explained. "We were up together in the 'seventies."
"Ah, I was up in the nineteen hundreds," I said. "I just missed you both."
"Well, didn't they ever tell you at Cambridge that you were the image of A. E. Barrett?"