"
In his Napoleonic way my uncle had omitted to give an address. His
telegram had been handed in at Farringdon Road, and after complex
meditations I replied to Ponderevo, Farringdon Road, trusting to the
rarity of our surname to reach him.
"Where are you?" I asked.
His reply came promptly:
"192A, Raggett Street, E.C."
The next day I took an unsanctioned holiday after the morning's lecture.
I discovered my uncle in a wonderfully new silk hat--oh, a splendid
hat! with a rolling brim that went beyond the common fashion. It was
decidedly too big for him--that was its only fault. It was stuck on the
back of his head, and he was in a white waistcoat and shirt sleeves.
He welcomed me with a forgetfulness of my bitter satire and my hostile
abstinence that was almost divine. His glasses fell off at the sight of
me. His round inexpressive eyes shone brightly. He held out his plump
short hand.
"Here we are, George! What did I tell you? Needn't whisper it now, my
boy. Shout it--LOUD! spread it about! Tell every one! Tono--TONO--,
TONO-BUNGAY!"
Raggett Street, you must understand, was a thoroughfare over which some
one had distributed large quantities of cabbage stumps and leaves.
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