"A what?"
"A New Zealand Flax.... The ostriches chased you, did they?"
"They did—the pair of 'em. It goes against a man's stomach, too, being chased by a bird."
"To me," said the Lord Proprietor, "it is gratifying evidence that they are recovering their spirits, which were hipped after the long voyage from Cape Town. But here, in the Gulf Stream, my theory is that we can acclimatise almost anything, animal or vegetable. Already they begin to feel its invigorating influence."
"Talking of vegetables, sir"—Archelaus shifted a canvas bag from his shoulders to the ground and began to untie the string which bound its neck.
"Pray take breath," suggested the Lord Proprietor. "At your age—and with the little exercise you get on Garrison Hill——"
"We don't keep ostriches," said Archelaus, curtly. "But, talking of vegetables, the Governor sends his compliments to you, sir, and begs your acceptance of a few choice plants in return for the small clothes you lent me."
"'Lent' you, Archelaus? 'Gave,' you mean."
"Oh, sir, but—excuse me—I couldn't—there was them ostriches to be considered."
"It has occurred to me," went on the Lord Proprietor, who was in the best of moods this morning, "that those—er—breeches might be a trifle conspicuous—a shade too highly pronounced in pattern—to be worn with uniform."