Bobbie. I didn't know there were any corners on the limitless prairie.
Daniel (testily). I was millions of miles away from any prairie—and, anyhow, I was only speaking metaphorically.
Sylvia. You are irritating, Bobbie, why can't you keep quiet.
Mrs. Crombie. There seems to be some doubt, Mr. Davis, as to what part of America you were in.
Daniel. South America—firmly South America—in the little tiny wee, bijou village of Santa Lyta—far away from the beaten track, this lonely place lies basking in the sun. Heavens, how it basked! its natives care-free and irresponsible, dreaming idly through the long summer heat——
Oliver. What did you do there, uncle?
Daniel. Eh?
Oliver. What did you do there, uncle?
Daniel (coming to earth). Oh, er—lots of things—fishing—yachting.
Bobbie. But I thought it was inland.