"'Plato,'" I said, "'thou reasonest well.' Helen, pass me the butter."
"Why deny it, then?" said Helen's mother. "If you're going to be away you're going to be away, and there's an end of it."
"You're wrong there," I said. "There isn't an end of it. I can go away and come back on the same day. By the last train, you know. The last train is intended for that very purpose."
"What very purpose?"
"For coming back by the last train. That's what it's there for. Fathers of families who come back by it sleep in their own beds instead of sleeping in strange beds in clubs or hotels. Let us sing the praises of the last train. Rosie, push over the marmalade, and don't upset the spoon on the table-cloth."
It is not easy to converse with marmalade in one's mouth. I did not make the attempt, so there was a short pause in the argument. It was resumed by the lady of the house.
"You'll lose a lot of sleep, you know," she said. "The last train doesn't get you here till one o'clock in the morning."
"No matter," I said, "I can bear it. The thought of meeting my family at breakfast will sustain me."
"But you never do meet us. After a last train night you 're always half-an-hour late, and by that time the girls are gone."
"But you remain," I said. "To see you pouring out coffee is a liberal education in patience."