Monday or the Tuesday, then?"
But as the story progressed, he appeared to take a positive dislike
to the dog, and only yawned each time that it was mentioned.
Indeed, towards the end, I think, though I trust I am mistaken, I
heard him mutter, "Oh, damn the dog!"
After the dog story, we thought we were going to have a little
quiet. But we were mistaken; for, with the same breath with which
he finished the dog rigmarole, our talkative companion added:
"But I can tell you a funnier thing than that - "
We all felt we could believe that assertion. If he had boasted that
he could tell a duller, more uninteresting story, we should have
doubted him; but the possibility of his being able to relate
something funnier, we could readily grasp.
But it was not a bit funnier, after all. It was only longer and
more involved. It was the history of a man who grew his own celery;
and then, later on, it turned out that his wife was the niece, by
the mother's side, of a man who had made an ottoman out of an old
packing-case.
The friend glanced round the carriage apologetically about the
middle of this story, with an expression that said:
