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"See!" he would exclaim, "Wot did I tell you-- Its no use of
trying, yer just can't do it. 'ere I've been ten days a
trying and it can't be done."
We had a very fine Christmas dinner just Ethel, the McCarthy's
and I. Fanny, tell Charles, brought in the plum pudding with
a sprig of holly in it and blazing, and after dinner I read
them the Jackall-- About eleven I started to take Ethel to
Miss Terry's, who lives miles beyond Kensington. There was a
light fog. I said that all sorts of things ought to happen in
a fog but that no one ever did have adventures nowadays. At
that we rode straight into a bank of fog that makes those on
the fishing banks look like Spring sunshine. You could not
see the houses, nor the street, nor the horse, not even his
tail. All you could see were gas jets, but not the iron that
supported them. The cabman discovered the fact that he was
lost and turned around in circles and the horse slipped on the
asphalt which was thick with frost, and then we backed into
lamp-posts and curbs until Ethel got so scared she bit her
under lip until it bled.


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