IV
The International
OME old lady in a Welsh farm-house had promised a Persian kitten to Drusilla, and with Matthew Arnold in his mail-cart we went to meet it by the four o'clock train from Shrewsbury. Quite unexpectedly, we met Georgie, too—Georgie and a travelling companion.
"Hallo!" cried he, flinging his bag down almost upon my feet. "This is no end of luck. I am glad to see you, old chap. How's Drusie and the kid?"
"They're here," said I. "You look well, Georgie."
Georgie sighed ostentatiously.
"Oh, I'm well," he said, "in health; but I'm a bit worried."
"Worried?" I eyed the travelling companion with puzzled curiosity.
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