Arriving at the hotel quarter of an hour or so before lunch time, we strolled into the garden. Our low comedian, observing an elderly gentleman of dignified appearance sipping a glass of Vermouth at a small table, stood for a moment rooted to the earth with astonishment, then, making a bee-line for the stranger, seized and shook him warmly by the hand. We exchanged admiring glances with one another.
“Charlie is in good form to-day,” we told one another, and followed at his heels.
The elderly gentleman had risen; he looked puzzled. “And how's Aunt Martha?” asked him our low comedian. “Dear old Aunt Martha! Well, I am glad! You do look bonny! How is she?”
“I'm afraid—” commenced the elderly gentleman. Our low comedian started back. Other visitors had gathered round.
“Don't tell me anything has happened to her! Not dead? Don't tell me that!”
He seized the bewildered gentleman by the shoulders and presented to him a face distorted by terror.
“I really have not the faintest notion what you are talking about,” returned the gentleman, who seemed annoyed. “I don't know you.”
“Not know me? Do you mean to tell me you've forgotten—? Isn't your name Steggles?”
“No, it isn't,” returned the stranger, somewhat shortly.
“My mistake,” replied our low comedian. He tossed off at one gulp what remained of the stranger's Vermouth and walked away rapidly.