George was still away when I got back. As it was after five, however, I decided not to wait for him. I put the kettle on the "Primus," and walked about the bungalow, singing "Who is Sylvia?" and other similar ballads until it boiled over. Then I made tea, and sat down in a delightfully contented frame of mind. I was so happy that I ate all the sardines before I noticed what I was doing.
George came in a moment afterwards.
"Hallo!" he said. "Still at breakfast?"
"I breakfasted, George," I answered, "exactly two centuries ago."
"Well, that must account for the horrible energy with which you're eating now." He looked round the table. "Here, hang it," he added, in a sudden tone of horror, "you've finished the sardines!"
"I am sorry, George," I said penitently. "I have been in a very exalted, spiritual meditation, and I did not notice what I was eating."
He sat down with a disbelieving grunt.
"Well, next time an attack comes on, get out some of those mouldy biscuits. This is a nice way to treat one who has been slaving for your benefit. I was looking forward to those sardines all the way home."
"What have you been doing?" I inquired, in a timely effort to turn the conversation into a less poignant channel.
George opened a bottle of Bass, and helped himself to an impressive slice of cake.