“Hardly.”
“Humph! Not so good a glass, then, as Pat’s, that brought the church so near that he could hear the singing. Go on.”
“He’s gesticulating. Now he’s marching up and down stiffly like Graves did while the conference was going on.”
“Well, of all the impudence! But no flam: can you really make out all that?”
“Perfectly. Now he is taking off his puggree and pretending to take a handkerchief out and mopping his bald head.”
“Like Wrayford does. Why, the scoundrel stood as stiff as a poker when he was here and let the others do the talking.”
“Yes, while he was studying his part. Now they’re laughing again and stamping about and holding their sides. He is going through everything he noted for their amusement, and telling them what absurd-looking people the English are.”
“Oh yes,” said Roberts; “we’re a very humorous lot, we British—very amusing indeed, but best at a distance, for we’re rather prickly, and easily induced to make use of our knives. What next?”
“The show’s over; and look—you can see that?”
“What! that flashing in the sunshine?”