Captain Kydd ceased speaking as the cab tried to force a way into the South Kensington Museum.
"Well, what's there in that?" said the eminent novelist.
"Oh, nothing much. Let's see how it goes afterwards. Mrs. Gladstone, who was close behind him, turned round and whispered to the hostess in an ecstatic shriek: 'Oh, Mrs. Whateverhernamewas, you will plant a tree there, won't you?'"
"By Jove!" said the young gentleman with the pink eyes.
"I don't believe it," said the eminent novelist.
I said nothing, but it seemed very likely. Captain Kydd laughed: "Well, I don't consider that sort of atmosphere exactly wholesome, y' know."
And when the cab had landed us in the drinking-fountain in High Street, Kensington, and the horse fell down, and the cabby collected our half-crowns and gave us his beery blessing, and I had to grope my way home on foot, it occurred to me that perhaps you might be interested in that anecdote. As I have said, it explains a great deal more than appears at first sight.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] "Turnovers," No. IX.