“It was cruel to punish him so, Mr Tinfoil,” said Titania.
“Cruel punishment! Why, yes; a sort of impailment,” replied Mr Tinfoil, offering his arm.
The remainder of the party landed and walked home, followed by the two assistants, who took charge of the crockery; and thus ended the pic-nic party, which, as Tom said, was the very funniest day he had ever spent in his life.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
Mr Turnbull “sets his house in order”—Mrs T thinks such conduct very disorderly—the Captain at his old tricks with his harpoon—He pays his lady’s debts of honour, and gives the applicant a quittance under his own foot—Monsieur and Madame Tagliabue withdraw from the society of “ces Barbares les Anglais.”
It was on the Sunday after the picnic party, when, feeling I had neglected Captain Turnbull, and that he would think it unkind of me not to go near him, after having accompanied Mary to church, I set off on foot to his villa near Brentford. I rang at the porter’s lodge, and asked whether he was at home.
“Yes, sir,” replied the old woman at the lodge, who was very communicative, and very friendly with me; “and missus be at home too.”
I walked up the carriage-drive of one hundred yards, which led to the entrance-door; and when I rang it was opened by a servant I had not seen before as belonging to the establishment. “Where is Mr Turnbull?” inquired I.