"Now, Hinton," he said, "you've told me a lot about this pageant, and it's only fair that I should tell you something. Sit down and listen to me for a minute. Smoke if you like."
Hinton preferred to stand—or said he did—and refused the offer of a cigarette. Jimmy began:
"My idea of the day of your pageant is something like this. Crowds on the shore. Village people dressed up as assistant smugglers waiting for the arrival of the lugger. Everybody anxiously peering out to sea. Distinguished visitors in the reserved seats scanning the horizon with telescopes. Uncle Evie with a telescope. The bishop with binoculars. Other eminent men with field glasses. Women asking stupid questions in order to keep conversation going. Everybody jumping with excitement and expectation till the lugger comes in sight. Then cheers. Loud cheers. That's about the programme so far, isn't it, Hinton?"
"That, my lord, is very much what we hope to accomplish."
"Exactly. But before your lugger comes in sight she must have been somewhere out of sight. That's only common sense. You follow me so far."
"Certainly, my lord, out of sight. Certainly."
"Very well. Where was she before she came into sight? Tell me that?"
"I'm not quite sure that I catch your lordship's meaning."
"I'll try and make it plainer for you if you like. The lugger was out of sight at one time. Very well. A little later she comes into sight. I know there's a school of philosophers which says that a thing simply doesn't exist unless somebody's looking at it. And of course if that's true there's no use asking questions about where the lugger was before the bishop and Uncle Evie saw it through their glasses. It just wasn't anywhere. In fact there wasn't a lugger. But you and I don't believe that, do we? We can't, you know, because we both intend to be on board that lugger, and we'd hate to pass out of existence till Uncle Evie and the bishop chose to see us. We may take it then, that the lugger was somewhere before she came in sight. But where? That's what I want to get at."