It may tell us, perhaps, how to deal with the plant so that
we can get more of the beans. Eight months is no use to me. When I am
like this, just drifting back, everything seems possible. I can even
see myself back at Clematis Villa, walking with Ellen, listening to the
band, leaning over the bar of the Golden Lion. Listen!"
He stopped short. A barrel organ outside was playing a music hall
ditty. His head kept time to the music.
"I wish I had my banjo!" he exclaimed, impulsively. Then he shivered.
"Did you hear that? A banjo! I used to play it, you know."
Mr. Waddington looked shocked.
"The banjo!" he repeated. "Do you really mean that you want to play it
at the present moment?"
"I do," Burton replied. "If I had it with me now, I should play that
tune. I should play others like it. Everything seems to be slipping
away from me. I can smell the supper cooking in my little kitchen at
Clematis Villa. Delicious! My God, I can't bear it any longer! Here
goes!"
He took a bean from his pocket with trembling fingers and swallowed it.
Then he leaned back in his chair for several moments with closed eyes.
When he opened them again, an expression of intense relief was upon his
face.
"I am coming back already," he declared faintly.
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