‘Personally?’ he asked. ‘How?’
‘Because six hundred years ago an ancestor of mine signed the Compact.’
He reflected a moment, than looked me over and said:
‘Ancestor! It’s my opinion you signed it yourself. For of all the old ancient relics that ever I—but never mind about that. What is it you are waiting here for so long?’
I said:
‘I’m not waiting here so long at all. I’m waiting fifteen minutes till they forget a glove and a book and go back and get them.’ Then I told him who they were that I had come for.
He was very obliging, and began to shout inquiries to the tiers of heads and shoulders projecting from the windows above us. Then a woman away up there sang out:
‘Oh, they? Why, I got them a cab and they left here long ago—half-past eight, I should say.’
It was annoying. I glanced at my watch, but didn’t say anything. The officer said:
‘It is a quarter of twelve, you see. You should have inquired better. You have been asleep three-quarters of an hour, and in such a sun as this! You are baked—baked black. It is wonderful. And you will miss your train, perhaps. You interest me greatly. What is your occupation?’