. Let me put the main question to you now that I could not put the other afternoon. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. "I was coming to give you intelligence of a comical trick played by this rascal, when I find him here—the last place, I own, where I should have expected to find him. It was painful to want him so much. . " "Can I have a word with you, master?" said Sheppard, approaching Wood.
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