If I could only have handed a Statement to the Press....
And I have yet to mention the unkindest blow of all. The evening clothes themselves, the only presentable things, stayed in the bag. If they had come out too, then I might have done something. I should have left them to the last—conspicuous upon the floor. Then I should have picked them up slowly, examined them, and nodded at the braid on the trousers as if to say, "Hang it, that's the sort of man I am really." I think, if they had come out too, I could still have carried the thing off....
What should A. do? Should he say to the girl, "Close your eyes and count twenty, and see what somebody's brought you," and then, while she was not looking, push the clothes under the seat? Should he be quite calm, and, stretching in front of her, say, "My sock, I think," or politely, "Perhaps you would care to look at a piece of The Daily Mail?" Should he disown the thing altogether? "I'm very sorry. Let me put them back for you." That would have been a master-stroke.
Or should he, to divert attention, pull the alarm, and pay his five pounds like a man?
But what did A. do?
Alas! He did nothing heroic. For one moment he stood there; then he pulled down the bag, fell on his knees, and began throwing the things in madly. He picked up the bag, locked it, and put it on the rack.
Then he turned to the girl. Now he was going to have spoken to her. An apology, a laugh—yes, even now he might have carried it off.
Only he happened to look up ... and he saw above her head the cord of his pyjamas dangling over the edge of the rack.