"Why, it's Warner!" he shouted, waving his arms. "It's jolly old Warner--
with a new silk hat and the old silk moustache!"
"Is that Dr. Warner?" cried Rosamund, bounding forward in a
burst of memory, amusement, and distress. "Oh, I'm so sorry!
Oh, do tell him it's all right!"
"Let's take hands and tell him," said Michael Moon. For indeed,
while they were talking, another hansom cab had dashed up behind
the one already waiting, and Dr. Herbert Warner, leaving a companion
in the cab, had carefully deposited himself on the pavement.
Now, when you are an eminent physician and are wired for by
an heiress to come to a case of dangerous mania, and when,
as you come in through the garden to the house, the heiress
and her landlady and two of the gentlemen boarders join hands
and dance round you in a ring, calling out, "It's all right! it's
all right!" you are apt to be flustered and even displeased.
Dr. Warner was a placid but hardly a placable person.
The two things are by no means the same; and even when Moon explained
to him that he, Warner, with his high hat and tall, solid figure,
was just such a classic figure as OUGHT to be danced round
by a ring of laughing maidens on some old golden Greek seashore--
even then he seemed to miss the point of the general rejoicing.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82