The Last Laugh
could ring now till he was black in the face, but I was not coming, and he need not think it.
I half expected to find a hansom waiting, but there was none, and we had gone some distance down the Earl's Court Road before we got one; in fact, we had to run to the stand. Opposite is the church with the clock upon it, as everybody knows, and at sight of the dial my companion had wrung his hands; it was close upon the half-hour.
"Poco tempo—pochissimo!" he wailed. "Bloomburee Ske-warr," he then cried to the cabman—"numero trentotto!"
"Bloomsbury Square," I roared on my own account, "I'll show you the house when we get there, only drive like be-damned!"
My companion lay back gasping in his corner. The small glass told me that my own face was pretty red.
"A nice show!" I cried; "and not a word can you tell me. Didn't you bring me a note?"
I might have known by this time that he had not, still I went through the pantomime of writing with my finger on my cuff. But he shrugged and shook his head.
"Niente," said he. "Una quistione di vita, di vita!"
"What's that?" I snapped, my early training
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