"It's as easy to be punctual as otherwise," said Mrs. Chinnery; "easier, if people did but know it."
"So it is," murmured the captain, and sat gazing, with a sudden wooden expression, at a picture opposite of the eruption of Vesuvius.
"Peter's late again," said Mrs. Chinnery, in tones of hopeless resignation.
"Business, perhaps," suggested Captain Trimblett, still intent on Vesuvius.
"For years and years you could have set the clock by him," continued Mrs. Chinnery, bustling out to the kitchen and bustling back again with the kettle; "now I never know when to expect him. He was late yesterday."
Captain Trimblett cleared his throat. "He saw a man nearly run over," he reminded her.
"Yes; but how long would that take him?" retorted Mrs. Chinnery. "If the man had been run over I could have understood it."
The captain murmured something about shock.
"On Friday he was thirty-three minutes late," continued the other.
"Friday," said the faithful captain. "Friday he stopped to listen to a man playing the bagpipes—a Scotchman."