"What do you mean?" he says.

"Well, sir," I says, "if you'll excuse me, gentlemen in their sober
senses don't take their babies about in dog-baskets. Where do you come
from?"

"From Banbury," he says; "I'm well known in Banbury."

"I can quite believe it," I says; "you're the sort of young man that
would be known anywhere."

"I'm Mr. Milberry," he says, "the grocer, in the High Street."

"Then what are you doing here with this dog?" I says.

"Don't irritate me," he answers. "I tell you I don't know myself. My
wife's stopping here at Warwick, nursing her mother, and in every letter
she's written home for the last fortnight she's said, 'Oh, how I do long
to see Eric! If only I could see Eric for a moment!'"

"A very motherly sentiment," I says, "which does her credit."

"So this afternoon," continues he, "it being early-closing day, I thought
I'd bring the child here, so that she might see it, and see that it was
all right. She can't leave her mother for more than about an hour, and I
can't go up to the house, because the old lady doesn't like me, and I
excite her. I wish to wait here, and Milly--that's my wife--was to come
to me when she could get away. I meant this to be a surprise to her."