"I know what you're driving at," broke in Gammon good-humouredly, as
he sat in bed with his knees up. "You've nowhere to sleep--ain't
that it?"
"No, no; I assure you no!" exclaimed the other, with unfailing
politeness. "I have excellent lodgings in the parish of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields; besides, you don't imagine I should disturb
you after midnight for such a trivial cause! You have heard of the
death of Lord Bolsover?"
"Never knew he was living," cried Gammon.
"Nonsense, you are an incorrigible joker. The poor fellow died
nearly a week ago. Of course I must attend his funeral to-morrow
down at Hitchin; I really couldn't neglect to attend his funeral.
And here comes my difficulty. At present I'm driving a' Saponaria'
van, and I shall have to provide a substitute, you see. I thought I
had found one, a very decent fellow called Grosvenor, who declares,
by the by, that he can trace his connexion with the aristocratic
house--interesting, isn't it? But Grosvenor has got into trouble
to-day--something about passing a bad half-crown--a mere mistake,
I'm quite sure.
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