"Three of ice, Bill," said the fishmonger, and Bill gave me quite a respectable segment in "The Morning Post."
"And I want a taxi," I said, and I waved my lobster at one.
We drove quickly home.
But as we neared the flat I suddenly became nervous about Algernon. I could not take him, red and undraped, past the hall-porter, past all the other residents who might spring out at me on the stairs. Accordingly, I placed the block of ice on the seat, took off some of its "Morning Post," and wrapped Algernon up decently. Then I sprang out, gave the man a coin, and hastened into the building.
* * * * *
"Bless you," said Celia, "have you got it? How sweet of you!" And she took my parcel from me. "Now we shall be able—Why, what's this?"
I looked at it closely.
"It's—it's a lobster," I said. "Didn't you say lobster?"
"I said ice."
"Oh," I said, "oh, I didn't understand. I thought you said lobster."