Yes, George Gardiner and the man Finlayson had arranged it all between
them. I am conscious that, in a fashion, they made of us their butts.
They had their little joke at our expense. But, in the end, the laugh
was on our side. So we forgave them easily, at least I know I did. I
never yet sat down to a better dinner than Gardiner had had prepared
for us that night, nor one as good. No doubt the reaction, the
surprise, the laughter, provided a piquant sauce. For when we realised
that that monstrous menu had been but a ghastly joke, and that a
banquet calculated to tempt the jaded palate of an Epicurus was
awaiting the favour of our consumption, we enjoyed the joke as heartily
as its perpetrator could have himself desired.
As I departed homeward I purchased from an urchin for a shilling his
last copy of the night's paper, and found that those shares in which I
was interested had been firm, when the Stock Exchange had closed,
at an advance of one and a half. Most satisfactory, really. On the
following day, when I paid Adeline my usual call, I learned that a
lately-deceased aunt had left her quite a snug little legacy. Nothing
could have been more agreeable from every point of view. The foolish
child assured me that she knew she was going to be visited by a stroke
of good fortune since, only two days before, she had found a money
spider on the brim of her hat. While I congratulated the dear girl I
laughed at her credulity, pointing out that it is only the ignorant who
believe in omens. In the present age of enlightenment and progress
educated men and women treat them, as of course, with that indifference
they deserve. I went on to explain that as articles of faith such
trivial superstitions were only possible in the childhood of the world.
But whether or not she was in complete agreement with me I am not
wholly sure.