With the night came a trayful of supper for the suffragette, and with the supper came Albert, not of course in the useful rôle of supper purveyor, but only as an ornament.
“This earthquake id Udiod Towd seebs to have beed quite a catastrophe.”
“Quite,” agreed the suffragette.
“I caddot picture ad earthquake,” continued Albert. “I suppose doboddy cad picture such ad urheard-of disaster.”
“I can,” said the suffragette. “I expect my picture is all wrong, but it’s certainly there. I see it red and grey, which is the most vicious discord I know.”
“Red ad grey?” repeated Albert. “Why red ad grey? What for idstadce is red, ad what grey?”
“Why,” said the suffragette rather lamely, “I suppose the quaking is red, and the pain grey.”
“You seeb to be talking dodsedse,” said Albert, with creditable toleration. “I expect the flabes are red, ad the sboke grey. However, go od with your picture.”
“I think the world would suddenly give a lurch to one side, and you would wonder what had happened, and why you felt so sick. Before you realised anything else you would notice a sort of dazzle of chalk-white faces all round you.”
“The people are dearly all degroes id Udiod Towd.”