“How’s that?”
“Because you never forget a face. You have not seen me for over ten years.”
“Speaking of remembering faces,” said he, tapping me with his cane, “whom do you think I once ran into four summers ago just as I have met you here.”
“I can not imagine.”
“It may be you won’t even remember his name—that queer stick—a—why I have forgotten it myself—oh, yes—Dun—Dunlevy, don’t you remember he used to sit with us at college?”
“In the name of God tell me where he is.”
“Oh, that I don’t know—so you recall him? Well, I met him over in England—down at Richmond, in Surrey. Did you ever hear of that famous hotel there, the Star and Garter?”
“Yes,” I said, “Thackeray mentions it; and then I lived in Richmond once.”
“Oh, did you really? Very good; then you know the spot. It was there I saw Dunlevy, wheeled around by an old darky.”