I suppose it was the contrast
between them and him that made me stare so hard at the large young man
who was standing on the threshold and surveying the scene.
He looked, as himself would undoubtedly have said, `fit as a fiddle,'
or `right as rain.' His cheeks were rosy, his eyes sparkling. He had
his arms akimbo, and his feet planted wide apart. His grey bowler
rested on the back of his head, to display a sleek coating of hair
plastered down over his brow. In his white satin tie shone a dubious
but large diamond, and there was the counter-attraction of geraniums
and maidenhair fern in his button-hole. So fresh was the nosegay that
he must have kept it in water during the passage! Or perhaps these
vegetables had absorbed by mere contact with his tweeds, the subtle
secret of his own immarcescibility. I remembered now that I had seen
him, without realising him, on the platform of the Gare du Nord. `Gay
Paree' was still written all over him. But evidently he was no
repiner.
Unaccountable though he was, I had no suspicion of what he was about
to do. I think you will hardly believe me when I tell you what he did.
`A traveller's tale' you will say, with a shrug. Yet I swear to you
that it is the plain and solemn truth. If you still doubt me, you have
the excuse that I myself hardly believed the evidence of my eyes.
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