T’other evening I went home, to my father’s marble halls, to seek the old gentleman on an affair of hot urgency. It was in the long hours. I lost some temper—the butler being a sphinx of ducal know-nothingness—so I rang up the housekeeper. Yes, she knew where a telegram would find Sir Pompey if I would leave it with her.
I!
Leave it!
Gods! said I, am I utterly disinherit?
Forthwith the heir of this branch of the Malahides demanded the address.
It lay at St. John’s Wood!
I nodded ‘That will do’ to the twain, and dismissed them; and, they being dismissed, I whistled long.
Naughty old gentleman!...
The next morning Pa did not return. Mid-day passed. Evening stole on.... The dusk saw me descend at the doors of the address in St. John’s Wood from mine hansom cab.
I must preach the decencies; thus I, strengthening the intention as I rang.