But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. The image did not move. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. Miraculously, her schoolmates were so upswept in their own summer planning that they had no time to interrogate her. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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