THE FOURTH DIMENSION
"Suppose I did. I know Otis Harvey—or used to. I 'd send him a wire, and he 'd understand it was a ground-hog case with me. That 's exactly what I told this British fossil company here."
"Have you been answering their letters without legal advice, then?"
"Of course I have."
"Oh, my Sainted Country! Go ahead, Wilton."
"I wrote 'em that I 'd be very happy to see their president and explain to him in three words all about it; but that would n't do. 'Seems their president must be a god. He was too busy, and—well, you can read for yourself—they wanted explanations. The station-master at Amberley Royal—and he grovels before me, as a rule—wanted an explanation, and quick, too. The head sachem at St. Botolph's wanted three or four, and the Lord High Mukkamuk that oils the locomotives wanted one every fine day. I told 'em—I 've told ’em about fifty times—I stopped their holy and sacred train because I wanted to board her. Did they think I wanted to feel her pulse?"
"You did n't say that?"
"'Feel her pulse'? Of course not."
"No. 'Board her.'"
"What else could I say?"
"My dear Wilton, what is the use of Mrs. Sherborne, and the Clays, and all that lot working over you for four years to make an Englishman out of you, if the very first time you 're rattled you go back to the vernacular?"
"I 'm through with Mrs. Sherborne and the rest of
[347]
