180 
MR TODD 
 
 
OSSORY.  Why, whatever do you mean ?    
MRS. OSSORY.  I don’t mean anything but what I say.  
He’s a devil ;  I’m sure of it.  I know it was his fault, 
somehow.  
OSSORY.  Nonsense, nonsense, my dear !  He was not 
even in the car.  
MRS. OSSORY.  It was his car, Alfred.  
OSSORY.  You’re a fool, Emily.  
CARR.  I think Mr. Ossory means that we could hardly 
hold him responsible if one of his steamers ran down a poor 
polar bear on a drifting iceberg.  
MRS. OSSORY.  I know I’m quite unreasonable ;  it’s an 
instinct, and intuition.  You know Saga of Bond Street 
said how psychic I was ! 
[During the next few speeches CARR and EUPHEMIA 
correspond by signs and winks.  
GRANDFATHER.  When I was in Australia forty-four 
years ago there was a very good fellow of the name of 
Brown in Ballarat.  Brown of Buninyong we used to call 
him.  I remember——  
MRS. OSSORY.  [bursting into tears].  How can you, 
grandpa ?  Can’t you realise that poor Henry is dead ?    
GRANDFATHER.  Henry dead ?    
MRS. OSSORY.  Didn’t you hear ?  He was run over by 
Mr. Todd’s motor-car this afternoon in Piccadilly.  
GRANDFATHER.  There, what did I tell you ?  I always 
disliked that man Todd from the first moment that I 
heard his name.  Dear, dear !  I always knew he would 
bring us trouble.  
OSSORY.  Well, this doesn’t seem to have been his fault,