I was afraid of an outburst from Philip, and said in hasty civility, "This is a cave we are making."
"They'd a splendid cave at Covent Garden last Christmas," said Mr. Clinton. "It covered half the stage. An enormously tall man dressed in cloth of silver stood in the entrance, and waved a spear ten or twelve feet long over his head. A fairy was let down above that, so you may be sure the cave was pretty big."
"Oh, here's the dragon," said Philip, who had been rummaging in the property box. "He's got a fiery tail."
"They were quite the go in pantomimes a few years ago," said Mr. Clinton, yawning. "My uncle had two or three—bigger than that, of course."
Philip saw that his friend was not interested in amateur property-making, and changed the subject.
"What have you been doing this morning?" said he.
"I drove here with my father, who had got to pass your gates. I say, there's splendid shooting on the marsh now. I want you to come out with me, and we'll pot a wild duck or two."
"I've no gun," said Philip, and to soften the statement added, "there's no one here to go out with."
"I'll go out with you. And I say, we could just catch the train back to the town, and if you'll come and lunch with us, we'll go out a bit this afternoon and look round. But you must get a gun."
"I should like some fresh air," said Philip, "and as you've come over for me—"