“Your splendid health.”
I bowed.
“Your magnificent physique.”
I bowed.
“The other three are myself, and Jellaby, and Browne.”
He paused.
“And the drop of milk,” he said slowly, “is the caravan tour.”
I was confounded; and you, my hearers, will admit that I had every reason to be. Here was an example of what is rightly called irresistible logic, and a reasonable man dare not refuse, once he recognizes it, to bow in silence. Yet I felt very well. I said I did, after a pause during which I was realizing how unassailable Menzies-Legh’s position was, and endeavouring to reconcile its unassailableness with my own healthful sensations.
“You can’t get away from facts,” he answered. “There they are.”
And he indicated with his cigarette the four glasses and the milk jug.