Antoinette in imbecile admiration. She has bewitched that old
woman already.

I put on my hat and went to Wellington Road to consult Mrs.
McMurray. Heaven be thanked, thought I, for letting me take her
little boy the day before yesterday to see the other animals, and
thus winning a mother's heart. She will help me out of my
dilemma. Unfortunately she was not alone. Her husband, who is
on the staff of a morning newspaper, was breakfasting when I
arrived. He is a great ruddy bearded giant with a rumbling
thunder of a laugh like the bass notes of an organ. His
assertion of the masculine principle in brawn and beard and bass
somewhat overpowers a non-muscular, clean-shaven, and tenor
person like myself. Mrs. McMurray, on the contrary, is a small,
bright bird of a woman.

I told my amazing story from beginning to end, interrupted by
many Hoo-oo-oo-oo's from McMurray.

"You may laugh," said I, "but to have a mythical being out of
Olympiodorus quartered on you for life is no jesting matter."

Olymp--?" began McMurray.

"Yes," I snapped.

"Bring her this afternoon, Sir Marcus, when this unsympathetic
wretch has gone to his club," said his wife, "and I'll take her
out shopping."