TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
part of that once heard from the lips of her heroine of the stone house on Riverside Drive.
The man’s jaw dropped for a second with astonishment, then leaning over, he made a monocle of thumb and forefinger, the better to examine this prodigy.
“Crazy as a loon,” he muttered. “‘Drive round the park, James!’ Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!”
He slammed down the trap, chuckled grimly and, wheeling his horse about, started to retrace his route in the hope of meeting the guardians of this lunatic. At intervals he repeated “Drive round the park, James!” in mincing undertones and with renewed chucklings, but even the delicious humour of that speech failed to buoy up his spirits when it became apparent that they who had saddled him with his burden had vanished. He returned to the street he had left and inquired
