“Oh, is it?” said the dauntless W. G. “You just hold on a bit. A window is a window, and a cucumber frame’s a cucumber frame.”
“A Daniel come to judgment,” said Archie, otherwise A. E. Stoddart. “Are there no windows in a cucumber frame then?”
“Why o’ course there’s not, Archie—I mean, Stoddy,” said W. G., in a tone that might have been mistaken for intimidation.
“’May be wrong, you know,” said Archie; “but in my opinion panes of glass constitute windows, if they’re fixed in a cucumber frame, just as much as though they were in a church.”
“Stoddy, you’re talking through your hat,” said W. G. “A window’s a thing to see out of, isn’t it?”
“S’pose it is,” said the Middlesex captain.
“Well, Stoddy,” said the triumphant W. G., “just you tell us how cucumber frames can have windows if cucumbers can’t see.”
Great uproar from Gloucester, during which the Rev. Mr. Elphinstone was seen to throw himself full length on the lawn, and roll about in sheer gaieté de cœur. Even the dignified features of the Middlesex captain were disturbed by a broad smile.
“Doctor,” he said, “they’ll have to make you a baronet yet. Oh, you amusing person!”
“She may be a kind of conscientious objector, don’t you know?” cried Carteret, the legal luminary, aiming ineffectual kicks at the rolling curate. “Rather think you’d better give the doctor a certificate of exemption, Stoddy, if Grace’ll swear solemnly on oath that she conscientiously believes that cucumbers really cannot see by any chance or possibility.”