Now, here"--Mr. Basket caught
his friend's arm, and leading him past a bust of Socrates ("an
Athenian," he explained in passing; "considered one of the wisest men
of antiquity, though not good-looking in _our_ sense of the word "),
paused on the brink of a small basin, cunningly sunk in centre of a
round, pebble-paved area guarded by statuary--"I consider this my
masterpiece."
"A fish-pond!"
"Yes, and containing real fish; goldfish, you perceive. I keep it
supplied from a rain-water cistern at the top of the house, and feed
'em on bread-crumbs. Never tell _me_," said Mr. Basket, "that
animals don't reason!"
"You certainly have made yourself a charming retreat," the Major
admitted, gazing about him.
Mr. Basket beamed. "You remember the lines I was wont to declaim to
you, my friend, over our bottle in Cheapside?--
"'May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. . . .'"
"For the last, it must be as Heaven pleases; but to some extent, you
see, I have come to enjoy my modest aspirations. Only until to-day
one thing was lacking. As poor Bannister used to quote it in the
play--you remember him?--
"'I've often wished that I had clear
For life six hundred pounds a year
A something-or-other house to lodge a friend. . . .'
"Ay, my dear Hymen," Mr.
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