"Do you live in that beastly spot?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"You have to live somewhere," the crétin pointed out gently.
"Then why not go on living there, you unspeakable Yahoo? Why leave your antimacassars, and china dogs, and wool mats, and wax fruit, and—and harmoniums, and come bursting into a civilised household—eh?"
"I have run away from home," said Philip simply.
Mr. Falconer uttered a yell of triumph.
"A-a-ah! Now we are getting at the facts. What is your address?"
Philip told him.
Mr. Falconer assumed an air of ferocious satisfaction.