The Club of Queer Trades
"I never talk tomfooleries," said the other, "without first knowing my audience."
Grant walked across the room and tapped the red-mustached secretary on the shoulder. That gentleman was leaning against the wall regarding the whole scene with a great deal of gloom, but, I fancied, with very particular gloom when his eyes fell on the young lady of the house rapturously listening to Wimpole.
"May I have a word with you outside, Drummond?" asked Grant. "It is about business. Lady Beaumont will excuse us."
I followed my friend, at his own request, greatly wondering, to this strange external interview. We paused abruptly, into a kind of side room out of the hall.
"Drummond," said Basil, sharply, "there are a great many good people and a great many sane people here this afternoon. Unfortunately, by a kind of coincidence, all the good people are mad and all the sane people are wicked. You are the only person I know of here who is honest and has also some common-sense. What do you make of Wimpole?"
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