I gave it up at once.
"Because he'll be sold again soon!" he chuckled. "That's one of my latest, Mr Wilson. I've little to do in these weary times but make riddles to amuse my girls and think of dodges for getting a rise out of my wife. I had her beautifully the other day! We've two sons at the front, you must know, and one of them's called Bob. Well, I got a letter from him, and suddenly I looked awful grave and cried, 'My God, Bob's been blown up'—you should have seen Mrs Craigie jump—'by his Colonel!' said I, and I tell you she was nearly as put about to find I'd been pulling her leg as if he'd really been blown to smithereens. Women are funny things."
I fear I scarcely laughed as much as he expected at this extraordinary instance of woman's obtuseness, but he did not seem to mind. He was already filling another pipe, and having found an audience, was evidently settling down to an afternoon's conversation—or rather an afternoon's monologue, for it was quite clear he was independent of any assistance from me. I was resolved, however, not to forgo this chance of learning something more about Eileen.
"You were talking about Miss Holland," I said hurriedly, before he had time to get under way again.
"Oh, so I was. And that reminds me I've come here just to make some inquiries about the girl."
Again his blue eyes twinkled furiously.
"Why's Miss Holland like our hall clock?" he inquired. "I may mention by the way that it's always going slow."
Again I gave it up.
"Because you take her hand and get forward! That was one for my wife's benefit. It made her fairly sick!"
"Do you mean," I demanded, "that you were actually in the habit of holding Miss—er—Holland's hand?"