"But we were talking of oyster shells. They are, as I say, our stand-by. To be sure, you can't procure 'em all the year round, like marrow bones for instance; but, as I tell Maria, from a gardening point of view that's almost a convenience. You can work at your beds whenever there's an 'r' in the month, and then, during the summer, take a spell, look about, and enjoy the results. Besides, it leaves you free to plan out new improvements. Now, here"--Mr. Basket caught his friend's arm, and leading him past a bust of Socrates ("an Athenian," he explained in passing; "considered one of the wisest men of antiquity, though not good-looking in _our_ sense of the word "), paused on the brink of a small basin, cunningly sunk in centre of a round, pebble-paved area guarded by statuary--"I consider this my masterpiece." "A fish-pond!" "Yes, and containing real fish; goldfish, you perceive. I keep it supplied from a rain-water cistern at the top of the house, and feed 'em on bread-crumbs. Never tell _me_," said Mr. Basket, "that animals don't reason!" "You certainly have made yourself a charming retreat," the Major admitted, gazing about him. Mr. Basket beamed. "You remember the lines I was wont to declaim to you, my friend, over our bottle in Cheapside?-- "'May I govern my passion with an absolute sway, And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. . . .'" "For the last, it must be as Heaven pleases; but to some extent, you see, I have come to enjoy my modest aspirations. Only until to-day one thing was lacking. As poor Bannister used to quote it in the play--you remember him?-- "'I've often wished that I had clear For life six hundred pounds a year A something-or-other house to lodge a friend. . . .' "Ay, my dear Hymen," Mr. Basket wrung the Major's hand with genuine feeling, "you have been a long time putting off this visit; but, now we have you, I promise we don't let you go in a hurry. We will toast old days; we will go visit the play together as of old--yes, this very night. For, as luck will have it, the stock company at the Theatre Royal makes way to-night--for whom think you? No less a man than Orlando B. Sturge, and in his great part of Tom Taffrail in _Love Between Decks; or, The Triumph of Constancy_; a week's special engagement with his own London company in honour of the Duke of Clarence, who is paying us a visit just now at Admiralty House." "Sturge?" echoed the Major, doubtfully.