"Yet you said that the Known--"
"Cannington, you wish me to spoil my epigrams by explanation. I decline to satisfy your morbid curiosity. All I know is, that the fountains of my imagination are dried up, and that I can't write a play which ought to be written if I am to earn enough to keep this car in petrol. I am, therefore--like Balzac--chasing my genius, and who knows upon what glorious adventure I may stumble."
Cannington laughed scornfully. "All the adventure you'll drop across will be in running over some old woman, or in exceeding the speed-limit."
"I care not," was my reckless reply. "I am prepared for anything."
"Don't be an ass," urged the boy politely, as we spun through the Barrack gates. "Stop here for the night, and I'll put you up. Then we can go to London to-morrow and have a ripping time. . . . What?"
"It's good of you, Cannington, and if I hadn't an income to earn I should accept with pleasure. As things are"--I stopped the car before the Mess door--"you can get down and send out a man to carry in your portmanteau."
"Have a cup of tea, anyhow," said Cannington, slipping to the ground.
I looked at my watch. "No, thanks. It's nearing six, and I have some distance to go. Don't delay me, boy."
"Oh, very well, confound you. Wait till I get my baggage and then you can buzz off. When am I to see you again?"
"The Fates will arrange that. I'll turn up sooner or later."