Luckily, Mrs. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. “I don’t understand. And I want you for myself—for my wife. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out. —Gentlemen, your most obsequious trout. "You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. The Master of the Mint.
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