He pointed to the equipage, the horses, and the groom, and with an
apparently magic word whispered into the groom's ear he did in fact
clear them away. They rattled and jingled off in the direction of
Leicester Square, while Sullivan muttered observations on the groom's
driving.

"Don't imagine I make a practice of tooling tandems down to my club,"
said Sullivan. "I don't. I brought the thing along to-day because I've
sold it complete to Lottie Cass. You know her, of course?"

"I don't."

"Well, anyhow," he went on after this check, "I've sold her the entire
bag of tricks. What do you think I'm going to buy?"

"What?"

"A motor-car, old man!"

In those days the person who bought a motor-car was deemed a fearless
adventurer of romantic tendencies. And Sullivan so deemed himself. The
very word "motor-car" then had a strange and thrilling romantic sound
with it.

"The deuce you are!" I exclaimed.

"I am," said he, happy in having impressed me. He took my arm as though
we had been intimate for a thousand years, and led me fearlessly past
the swelling menials within the gate to the club smoking-room, and put
me into a grandfather's chair of pale heliotrope plush in front of an