I began crossing.
"Not that side," said Robert, "unless you want the left luggage."
"The left luggage," I explained, "is my one desire."
I crossed.
The clerk was unusually prompt.
"What's yours?" he said.
"Since you ask," I replied, "I could do with a small stout; or, alternatively, a sherry and bitters."
He kept silence, but with a touch of urgency in it. It is hard to temporize when confronted with a businesslike silence. Yet my view of the drive was worth fighting for.
"I might leave my watch," I continued after a brief hesitation, "but the fact is I left it last week with my only godson. Have you a godson? You know what they are—always wanting something."
"Come along, now," said the official brusquely. Robert, too, was becoming restive.