"Oh, I beg pardon—didn't mean it to come there!" explained Moozeby. He took the sandwich; we all smelt it suspiciously, and Moozeby nibbled a little corner of it.
"Upon my word, it isn't half bad!" he said. "It's ham—not American, I'll swear. It's remarkably good. I'll finish it, and chance it."
"Precipitate a dish of 'em, Bob; it won't be any bigger effort to do a whole dish than a single one, will it?"
"Mrs. Wimbledon shuddered."
He did it. We each took one, very nervously and delicately—with the exception of Mrs. Wimbledon—and turned it over, and smelt it. Each sandwich was beautifully buttered and seasoned, and looked most tempting. A notion occurred to us we offered one to Tim, the Irish terrier, and he swallowed it, unhesitatingly, and did not die in a paroxysm, or catch fire; on the contrary, he licked his lips. We nibbled a corner; we ate those sandwiches, with the exception of Mrs. Wimbledon, who declared it was wicked, and a "tempting of Providence" (whatever that may be), and shuddered again.
"Go it, Bob, old man!" we cried in chorus. "Let's have some nice things—galantines, and so on."
"Well, I'll tell you what," said Moozeby, "let's make out a list—a race-hamper list—before I go to work. It'll be one effort for the lot."
"Yes, better order 'em all at once"
"Ssh! Don't speak of it as 'ordering,' old chap. Mrs. Besant wouldn't like it if she heard; and there's no knowing if she does," said Moozeby.
The affair was a great success. We laid out a clean white cloth on the burdens of the boat, and Moozeby precipitated on to it a very choice and varied collation. There were minor blunders: he omitted to precipitate a dish for the mayonnaise. The wine was excellent—not at all like any one gets from a wine merchant; and the cigars had not that aroma of guano characterising those we obtain from Havana.
Beyond this, the new way of providing things was remarkably economical; and we all decided to lay in a large stock of wine for home use in that way. It is very strange to reflect that this useful power, exercised with so great facility by H. P. B. and our friend Moozeby, should have been so long neglected by civilised men! The more one thinks upon it the stranger it seems.
"The last train gone!"
Presently it came on to rain, and Moozeby precipitated umbrellas and waterproofs. He was invaluable: no picnic is complete without a Moozeby. Nevertheless, these articles were not such a complete success as the viands; some of them hovered an unreasonable time in a nebulous condition, and one umbrella really only became solid in parts, and let the rain through the misty portions on to Pinniger and his young lady; but we arrived at the station in good spirits—to find our last train gone!
On inquiry, we discovered that we could, by waiting an hour and twenty minutes, get home towards morning by changing at Clapham-junction, Willes-
