"What might be your occupation, sir?" asked the Dumpy Philosopher.
"Railways, my friend, with patent medicines as a side-line," replied Mr. Jenkins.
"I hope you ain't come here to build none, nor make none," said the Yellow Leaf.
"I have come here in my private capacity as art lover, collector, connoisseur. I am awaiting the arrival of one of your leading citizens, Mr. Drake of Windward House."
"And here he be, bringing home the washing," cried Squinting Jack, as George at the moment appeared upon the road with a fantastic white bundle beneath each arm.
"Don't you believe his tale," whispered the Dumpy Philosopher to his friends, as the American started forward to meet George. "He'm going to make that railway across Dartmoor what'll ruin the whole lot of us--and Mr. Drake ha' been and brought 'en here."
It was the most awkwardly thrilling moment of George's life, when he found himself confronted by the millionaire before the eyes of the Elder Inhabitants. Because of the couple of ridiculous bundles he could not grasp the hand of Mr. Jenkins; he dared not explain he was carrying the porcelain about with him; so he muttered something about grand weather and unexpected pleasure, then raced homewards with the American ambling at his side.
"Crampy flung me a line telling me about your masterpieces. I beat the sun this morning in an aeroplane invented by a friend; came to turf on Salisbury plain; friend and driver broke rudder and ankle; caught a horse, rode him barebacked to the nearest garage; bought a car, drove it fifty miles; car broke down, sold it second-hand, hired a train, drove here from the station--all so to speak. If I'm not first, I guess I'm a derned good second."
"You needn't have hurried quite so much," gasped George, wishing he could exaggerate like that.
"I guess, sir, when it comes to business, a man has got to put in his best licks, or some other fellow will pull his foot ahead and spudgel up the goods. Cramp has unloosed his jaw-tackle to the crowd. I'm not particular scared of the Britishers, who look before they leap, and think before they look, and make their wills before they think; but there's quite a few Americans in your London, England, nosing around for something specially ancient to take home. There's Wenceslas Q. Alloway of Milwaukee. Lager-beer he is, or was, for now he's mostly grape juice for conscience' sake; with an elegant white beard and the innocent ways of an archangel--he's got this collecting craze so bad he'd mortgage his immortality, or a thousand years of it, for a bit of old china, though he'd try to stick in a clause to best the devil, for he's a pretty derned orthodox First Baptist on a Sunday. I'm a Second Adventist, and my crowd has just built a church in Philadelphia which for size and shape makes your Westminster Abbey look a bit retrospective."