Presently he began to realize again that they were in a fool's paradise. Surely they were taking a climb down too much for granted. Why should these hardshells give in so inexplicably? It was in the nature of things for a flaw to lurk under all this fair-seeming. Only fools would ever build on such a sublime pretense as Bridport House. Was it rational to expect its denizens to behave like ordinary sensible human people?
In order to sidetrack his fears he turned again to watch the labors of the pavement artist. The tip of a gifted sunshade was doing wonderful things with the gravel. It had just evolved a chef d' œuvreuvre ?], which however was only apparent to the eye of faith.
"Who do you imagine that is?"
Imagination was certainly needed. It would not have been possible otherwise to see a resemblance to anything human.
"That is his lamp," hovered the sunshade above this masterpiece. "That is his truncheon. Those are his boots. That is his overcoat. And there we have his helmet. And there," the tip of the sunshade traced slowly, "the noble profile of the greatest dear in existence."
At that he was bound to own that had the Park gravel been more sensitive, here would have been a living portrait of Sergeant Kelly of the X Division. And even if it was only visible to the eye of faith it was pretext enough for honest laughter.
"No one knows her hist'ry,
She is wrapt in myst'ry,"
he quoted softly.
