Mr. Quatermain. Why should you not speak of what will
be in all the papers. Yes, father, I have bought a very fine specimen,
the finest known, or at least Woodden has on my behalf, while I was
hunting for you, which comes to the same thing."

"Indeed, Stephen, and what did you pay for this flower? I have heard a
figure, but think that there must be some mistake."

"I don't know what you heard, father, but it seems to have been knocked
down to me at L2,300. It's a lot more than I can find, indeed, and I was
going to ask you to lend me the money for the sake of the family credit,
if not for my own. But we can talk about that afterwards."

"Yes, Stephen, we can talk of that afterwards. In fact, as there is no
time like the present, we will talk of it now. Come to my office.
And, sir" (this was to me) "as you seem to know something of the
circumstances, I will ask you to come also; and you too, Blockhead"
(this was to Woodden, who just then approached with the plant).

Now, of course, I might have refused an invitation conveyed in such a
manner. But, as a matter of fact, I didn't. I wanted to see the thing
out; also to put in a word for young Somers, if I got the chance. So
we all departed from that room, followed by a titter of amusement from
those of the company who had overheard the conversation. In the street
stood a splendid carriage and pair; a powdered footman opened its door.
With a ferocious bow Sir Alexander motioned to me to enter, which I did,
taking one of the back seats as it gave more room for my tin case. Then
came Mr. Stephen, then Woodden bundled in holding the precious plant
in front of him like a wand of office, and last of all, Sir Alexander,
having seen us safe, entered also.

"Where to, sir?" asked the footman.

"Office," he snapped, and we started.

Four disappointed relatives in a funeral coach could not have been more
silent. Our feelings seemed to be too deep for words. Sir Alexander,
however, did make one remark and to me. It was:

"If you will remove the corner of that infernal tin box of yours from my
ribs I shall be obliged to you, sir."

"Your pardon," I exclaimed, and in my efforts to be accommodating,
dropped it on his toe. I will not repeat the remark he made, but I may
explain that he was gouty. His son suddenly became afflicted with a
sense of the absurdity of the situation. He kicked me on the shin, he
even dared to wink, and then began to swell visibly with suppressed
laughte