The Wrong House
ever had in our lives! And do you know which was the most sporting part of it?"
"That up-hill ride?"
"I wasn't thinking of it."
"Turning your torch into a truncheon?"
"My dear Bunny! A gallant lad—I hated hitting him."
"I know," I said. "The way you got us out of the house!"
"No, Bunny," said Raffles, blowing rings. "It came before that, you sinner, and you know it!"
"You don't mean anything I did?" said I, self-consciously, for I began to see that this was what he did mean. And now at latest it will also be seen why this story has been told with undue and inexcusable gusto; there is none other like it for me to tell; it is my one ewe-lamb in all these annals. But Raffles had a ruder name for it.
"It was the Apotheosis of the Bunny," said he, but in a tone I never shall forget.
"I hardly knew what I was doing or saying," I said. "The whole thing was a fluke."
"Then," said Raffles, "it was the kind of fluke I always trusted you to make when runs were wanted."
And he held out his dear old hand.
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