I'll see if I
can catch him: he'd like to meet you, I'm sure.'
'For heaven's sake don't dream of it!' said Mr Dunning, 'I'm particularly
anxious to avoid him.'
'Oh! very well,' said the assistant, 'he doesn't come here often: I dare
say you won't meet him.'
More than once on the way home that day Mr Dunning confessed to himself
that he did not look forward with his usual cheerfulness to a solitary
evening. It seemed to him that something ill-defined and impalpable had
stepped in between him and his fellow-men--had taken him in charge, as it
were. He wanted to sit close up to his neighbours in the train and in the
tram, but as luck would have it both train and car were markedly empty.
The conductor George was thoughtful, and appeared to be absorbed in
calculations as to the number of passengers. On arriving at his house he
found Dr Watson, his medical man, on his doorstep. 'I've had to upset
your household arrangements, I'm sorry to say, Dunning. Both your
servants _hors de combat_. In fact, I've had to send them to the Nursing
Home.'
'Good heavens! what's the matter?'
'It's something like ptomaine poisoning, I should think: you've not
suffered yourself, I can see, or you wouldn't be walking about.
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