"Would n't they though! Try me on a check from my publisher."
"It's the point of view, after all, that changes proportions, is n't it? Are you going to work in here?"
"Yes; I need about four by eight feet of surface to keep my ideas from jostling one another, and this dining-room table is about the right fit when I 'm comparing pages of manuscript with first galley proofs."
"Good luck, then; we 'll not disturb you till dinner."
An hour later when I went into the office, I found Mr. Ewart at his desk. Beside him was a large tin box, twice as large as a bread-box. On top lay two pairs of his thick driving-gloves. I must have looked my surprise, for he laughed as he rose to place two chairs, one on each side of the only table in the room—a fine old square one of ancient curly birch, generally bare, but now covered with a square of oil cloth.
"What next? I can't wait for developments to explain all this paraphernalia," I said; my curiosity was thoroughly roused.
"These." He held out a pair of the driving-gloves. "You are to put them on, please, and not to take them off till I give you permission."
Mystified, I obeyed. He set down the tin box on the table between us; opened wide both windows to let in the tonic air, that began to hint of real spring, and, drawing on the other pair of gloves, took his seat opposite me at the table. I could not help laughing.
"How does this performance strike you?" he asked, amused at my amusement.
"Like the prelude to some absolutely ridiculous rite, unknown to me."