“‘I am apt to forget that it takes several months to interpret old Jake,’ he continued. ‘Those false teeth of his fascinate one, don’t they? I shall never forget the dreadful occasion he dropped them in the hot bed. We had the most agonising search, and finally persistence triumphed. They were rescued unscathed and restored to their rightful place.’ “And so he went on talking easily, until half-unconsciously I found myself strolling with him towards the house. Every now and then he stopped to point out some specimen of which he was proud, and, without my realising it, twenty minutes or so slipped by. It was the sound of a whistle at the station that recalled me to the passage of time, and I hurriedly looked at my watch. “‘Good Heavens!’ I cried, ‘I’ve missed my train. When is the next?’ “‘The next, Mr. Graham. I’m afraid there isn’t a next till to-morrow morning. This is a branch line, you know.’ “Jove! how I swore inwardly. After what old Andrews had said to me only that morning, to go and fail again would finally cook my goose. You must remember that it was before the days of motor-cars, and, with the fête in progress, the chance of getting a cart to drive me some twelve miles to Ashford was remote—anyway for the fare I could afford to pay. “I suppose my agitation showed on my face, for the grey-haired man became quite upset. “‘How stupid of me not to have thought of the time,’ he cried. ‘We must think of the best thing to do. I know,’ he said suddenly—‘you must telegraph your report. Stop the night here and telegraph.’ “I pointed out to him rather miserably that newspapers did not like the expense of wiring news unless it was important, and that by no stretch of imagination could the Appledore Flower Show be regarded as coming under that category. “‘I will pay the cost,’ he insisted, and waved aside my refusal. ‘Mr. Graham,’ he said, ‘it was my fault. I am a wealthy man; I would not dream of letting you suffer for my verbosity. You will wire your article, and I shall pay.’” The Writer smiled reminiscently. “What could have been more charming,” he continued—“what more considerate and courteous? My stupid, half-formed suspicions, which had been growing fainter and fainter as I strolled round the garden with my host, had by this time vanished completely, and when he found me pens, ink, and paper, as they say in the French exercise book, I stammered out my thanks. He cut me short with a smile, and told me to get on with my article. He would send it to the telegraph office, and tell his servants to get a room ready for me. And with another smile he left me alone, and I saw him pottering about the garden outside as I wrote.