The Winged Beetle

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,