"Little enough," I said modestly. "I have my own business to see to. But
the F.O. have always wanted to have something to do with me. So I gave them
the job of looking after your mother's hat. Had I known that they would
send it along by any Tom, Dick or George who happened to drop in and offer
to take the bag--"
George snatched the bag, examined it hastily and then tried to conceal it
behind his own luggage. But Geraldine knows enough about hats to be able to
spot a hatbox, when put to it, through all the heavy canvas and all the
fancy labels in the world. So there was nothing more to be said about it;
and there was little more to be done about it except for George to go on
doing special messenger with it. The inner histories died down and, after a
brief silence, George affected to go to sleep.
I only woke him up once and that was to ask whether he cared to look after
the rest of my luggage for me.
When we got to Paris I explained to George that I had not meant to hurt his
feelings; there was no fellow I would more gladly entrust my odd jobs to.
Indeed Geraldine and I should want him to officiate in a similar capacity
at the coming ceremony.
A very satisfactory conclusion. I got Geraldine; Geraldine got her full
deserts--me; and if George had the misfortune to sit on the bag in the
taxi, what matter? Geraldine had acquiesced; after that who cared what
Geraldine's mother did, said, thought or wore?
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Small Boy_.
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