'Oliver isn't ill? He hasn't had an accident?'
She spoke anxiously, and I was pleased at this evidence of human feeling. I decided to shoot the works with no more delay.
'Oh, no, he isn't ill,' I said; 'and as regards having accidents, it depends on what you call an accident. He's in chokey.'
'In what?'
'In prison.'
'In prison!'
'It was entirely my fault. We were strolling along on Boat-Race Night and I advised him to pinch a policeman's helmet.'
'I don't understand.'
'Well, he seemed depressed, don't you know; and rightly or wrongly, I thought it might cheer him up if he stepped across the street and collared a policeman's helmet. He thought it a good idea, too, so he started doing it, and the man made a fuss and Oliver sloshed him.'
'Sloshed him?'