Wellington's divorce breakfast reminded Ashton of a story. Ashton was one of the great That-Reminds-Me family. Perhaps it was to the credit of the Englishman that he missed the point of this story, even though Jimmie Wellington saw it through his fog, and Dr. Temple turned red and buried his eyes in the eminently respectable pages of the Scientific American.
Ashton and Wellington and Fosdick exchanged winks over the Britisher's stare of incomprehension, and Ashton explained it to him again in words of one syllable, with signboards at all the difficult spots.
Finally a gleam of understanding broke over Wedgewood's face and he tried to justify his delay.
"Oh, yes, of cawse I see it now. Yes, I rather fancy I get you. It's awfully good, isn't it? I think I should have got it before but I'm not really myself; for two mawnings I haven't had my tub."
Wellington shook with laughter: "If you're like this now, what will you be when you get to Sin san frasco—I mean Frinsansisco—well, you know what I mean."
Ashton reached round for the electric button as if he were conferring a favor: "The drinks are on you, Wedgewood. I'll ring." And he rang.
"Awf'lly kind of you," said Wedgewood, "but how do you make that out?"
"The man that misses the point, pays for the drinks." And he rang again. Wellington protested.
"But I've jolly well paid for all the drinks for two days."
Wellington roared: "That's another point you've missed." And Ashton rang again, but the pale yellow individual who had always answered the bell with alacrity did not appear. "Where's that infernal buffet waiter?" Ashton grumbled.