“I fell off a tram on Waterloo Bridge. Lost my hat.”
He was cold and wet and his teeth were chattering. His wife bustled him off to bed and gave him a little hot grog.
Between the sheets he recovered contentment. He gurgled exultantly at this last and only satisfying exploit of the day. He dreamed lazily of the blind rage of the Peels....
It must have been half-past ten when his wife came up to bring him some hot gruel. He had been asleep. She put the cup by the bedside and rearranged his pillow.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m right,” he murmured.
She sat on a chair by the side of the bed and after a few minutes remarked:
“You’ve missed an excitement while you’ve been asleep.”
“Oh?”