The words nearly stuck in my throat and I was
obliged to lie down for an hour afterwards."
Burton drew a little breath of relief.
"I wish I'd asked you about this before," he declared. "I should have
enjoyed my luncheon better."
Mr. Waddington coughed.
"The beans," he remarked, "are in my possession. There are only eleven
of them and I have not yet made up my mind exactly what to do with
them."
"Mr. Waddington," Burton said impressively, "have you forgotten that I
am a married man?"
Mr. Waddington started.
"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "I had forgotten that!
"A wife and one little boy," Burton continued. "We were living at
Garden Green in a small plastered edifice called Clematis Villa. My
wife is a vigorous woman, part of whose life has been spent in domestic
service, and part in a suburban dressmaker's establishment. She keeps
the house very clean, pins up the oleographs presented to us at
Christmas time by the grocer and the oil-man, and thinks I look genteel
in a silk hat when we walk out to hear the band in the public gardens on
Thursday evenings."
"I can see her!" Mr. Waddington groaned. "My poor fellow!"
"She cuts out her own clothes," Burton continued, "from patterns
presented by a ladies' penny paper.
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