“Me at dinner at Eaton Square. ’Pon my life, this is the funniest world I ever saw.”
He retained his old habit of talking as he went along the London streets, and people in a hurry stopped on noticing this, and delivered themselves of an opinion in regard to his sanity. In this way he often had long talks with Rosalind of an extremely fervent nature; Rosalind helping him with a few coy questions, all in a way that had never yet found realisation; his fluency in these rehearsals astonished him sometimes as much as his inexcusable awkwardness when he called at Camberwell.
“I’m a bit of a muddler,” he confessed in Waterloo Place, “where women are concerned. In other matters, now— Look where you’re coming, stupid!”
Spanswick, red faced, short necked, and pimpled, addressed in this way, was walking backwards in the inconvenient manner adopted by some on crowded pavements who wish to review scenes that have passed; it was a silken ankle stepping into a carriage that had clipped Spanswick’s attention.
“What ho!” cried Spanswick. “Still a lordin’ it, Erb, old man? Kind of a amphibious animal, ain’t you?”
“I can swim!” said Erb.
“The best swimmers get drownded sometimes.”
“Not more than once.”
“Talking of which,” said Spanswick cheerily, “are you going to stand us a drink?”
“No,” replied Erb.