"'THERE IS A GENTLEMAN AT THE VERY TOP OF THE TREE DYING FOR WANT OF FOOD.'"
"I can only say, sir, that I regret this contretemps as much as yourself. The fact is, I had no choice in the matter; the wind got the better of me, and took me just where it pleased."
"P—r—r—rh—Humph, humph!" sputtered the old gentleman. "Serves you right for getting inside such a flimsy contrivance. Can't understand how any man can be fool enough to want to career through the air when heaven has blessed him with a pair of sound legs. Perhaps you have no legs, though, for I'm hanged if I can see you," he concluded, irately, returning to his pet grievance.
"Yes, I have legs—rather long ones," returned the aeronaut, genially. "As to ballooning, it is a matter of personal taste, of course. We needn't quarrel about that, need we, Colonel Currie?"
"Eh, eh? How do you come to know my name?"
Reginald Hampton, in the privacy of his retreat, smiled beautifully to himself. He had watched the old gentleman's progress through the garden, and had guessed that he was tremendously proud of his flowers, his trees, his lawn; and an inspiration had come to this light-hearted trifler with another man's pear blossom.
"I guessed it, sir," he responded, very suavely. "I knew I had dropped somewhere in Kent, and a glance at that well-kept grass of yours, at the rare profusion of early flowers, at the extreme fulness—er—profligacy—of your fruit-blossom, told me in a moment that the garden could belong to only one man in the county. Do you suppose I have been a horticultural enthusiast all these years without knowing Colonel Currie by name? Why, the—the dahlias you exhibit are alone sufficient to make your name cling to one's memory. Sir, I am deeply sorry that I have injured your crop of jargonelles, but I cannot regret that I have been privileged to meet you."
Reginald Hampton had a cheery way of emerging with safety from any embarrassment in which he happened to find himself. His haphazard assumption of enthusiasm for the one subject on earth of which he knew least might so easily have led him astray; yet in the very nick of time that word dahlia crept into his consciousness and won the day. It chanced that dahlia-cultivation was the Colonel's most absorbing hobby. The old gentleman's anger had already begun to cool, under the influence of his enemy's persistent politeness, and this liberal application of the flattery-trowel at once set up a counter-current of positive cordiality.
"I apologise, sir, I apologise for the—ah—breadth of my language. These little accidents will happen, of course—do happen, doubtless, every day—and I had no idea that you were a grower of dahlias. Now, what soil do you consider the most suitable for the Cactus varieties?" Thus the Colonel, in tones of peace.
