Mr. Sage had recovered his composure by this time. He leaned close to Sammy’s ear and said gravely:
“Luggage, Sammy—luggage.”
“Sure—I get you,” said Sammy, winking. “But just the same I’ll call it baggage till I’ve got it safely out of the hands of Jim O’Brien, the baggage master. He doesn’t like me any too well as it is, and if I called it—Here we are! Hop right in, Jane. Permit me to introduce myself, Mrs. Sage. I am—”
“I remember you quite well,” interrupted the great actress (pronouncing it “quate”). “You are Sammy Parr—little Sammy Parr who used to live—ah—let me see, where was it you were living when I left Rumley, Sammy?”
Sammy flushed with joy to the roots of his hair.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me, Mrs.—”
“Pairfectly,” said she. “Oh, thank you so much. What a lovely car you have. Don’t come too close to Henry the Eighth—he has a vile way of snapping at people, whether he likes them or not. My word, Sammy! Jane! Herbert! Can I believe my eyes? Is this Rumley? Is this—”
“This is my wife, Mrs. Sage,” introduced Sammy, indicating the bare-headed young lady at the wheel.
“How do you do, Mrs. Sage. I’m awfully thrilled to meet you. I saw you act in London during the war. My first husband was an officer in the American Army, you see. You were perfectly lovely. I shall never forget—oh, dear, what was the name of the play? I ought to remember—”
“Don’t try,” interrupted Mrs. Sage. “I want to forget it myself. I say, Herbert, old thing, you can’t make me believe this is Rumley. You are deceiving me. I don’t recognize a single—Oh, yes, I do! I take it all back. I would know that man if I saw him in Timbuktu. The old Johnnie in the car we just passed. It was Gooch—the amiable Gooch—and, my word, what a dust he was raising!”