"And me being nothing more than a lonely bachelor," said Trew, "I thought perhaps the little missy here might favour me with her company."
"It'll do her the world of good," declared Mrs. Mills.
They met the next day near the West Entrance at half-past three. Mr. Trew, arriving early, had been listening to oratory at different groups, and he mentioned to Gertie that in his opinion some of the speakers might well be transferred to the Gardens, and kept in a cage; what he failed to understand was why people could not set to and make the best of the world, instead of pretending it was all bad. They went through the turnstiles, and divided attention between animals and visitors; the former could be identified with the help of labels. Mr. Trew said, in regard to the people, that it was difficult to tell which were housemaids, and which were ladies of title.
"Oddly enough," remarked Gertie, "I was intending to be here this afternoon, in any case."
"Trust me," he said, self-reproach fully, "for coming in second. Never actually won a race in my life yet. Is it the same young feller?"
"I'm not one to chop and change."
"When we run across him, I'll make myself scarce."
"You'll do nothing of the kind, Mr. Trew."
He pointed out, in the crocodile house, one or two regular customers of the Baker Street to Victoria route, and when they recognized him he became purple with content. A short youth was making notes near a tank in the corner. Mr. Trew, nudging Gertie, went to him and, in a gruff voice, asked what the deuce he was doing there; the youth turned to give a retort.
"I've got your young lady cousin with me," explained Mr. Trew. "Come along, and help with the task of looking after her."