The Club of Queer Trades
cabman, who drove away rejoicing, having just come in contact with the more generous among the rich. Then the two men talked together as men do talk together after giving and receiving great insults, the talk which leads either to forgiveness or a duel—at least so it seemed as we watched it from ten yards off. Then the two men shook hands heartily, and one went down one fork of the road and one down another.
Basil, with one of his rare gestures, flung his arms forward.
"Run after that scoundrel," he cried; "let us catch him now."
We dashed across the open space and reached the juncture of two paths.
"Stop!" I shouted, wildly, to Grant. "That's the wrong turning."
He ran on.
"Idiot!" I howled. "Sir Walter's gone down there. Wimpole has slipped us. He's half a mile down the other road. You're wrong.… Are you deaf? You're wrong!"
"I don't think I am," he panted, and ran on.
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