over, pass by others,
forget whom he had kissed and whom he hadn't, and have to begin all over
again. He used to say he believed they mixed themselves up on purpose,
and I am not prepared to maintain that the charge was altogether false.
To add to his troubles, one child always had a sticky face; and that
child would always be the most affectionate.

If things were going too smoothly, the eldest boy would come out with
some tale about all the clocks in the house being five minutes slow, and
of his having been late for school the previous day in consequence. This
would send my uncle rushing impetuously down to the gate, where he would
recollect that he had with him neither his bag nor his umbrella. All the
children that my aunt could not stop would charge after him, two of them
struggling for the umbrella, the others surging round the bag. And when
they returned we would discover on the hall table the most important
thing of all that he had forgotten, and wondered what he would say about
it when he came home.

We arrived at Waterloo a little after nine, and at once proceeded to put
George's experiment into operation. Opening the book at the chapter
entitled "At the Cab Rank," we walked up to a hansom, raised our hats,
and wished the driver "Good-morning."

This man was not to be outdone in politeness by any foreigner, real or
imitation. Calling to a friend named "Charles" to "hold the steed," he
sprang from his box, and returned to us a bow, that would have done
credit to Mr. Turveydrop himself. Speaking apparently in the name of the
nation, he welcomed us to England, adding a regret that Her Majesty was
not at the moment in London.

We could not reply to him in kind. Nothing of this sort had been
anticipated by the book. We called him "coachman," at which he again
bowed to the pavement, and asked him if he would have the goodness to
drive us to the Westminster Bridge road.

He laid his hand upon his heart, and said the pleasure would be his.

Taking the third sentence in the chapter, George asked him what his fare
would be.

The question, as introducing a sordid element into the conversation,
seemed to hurt his feelings. He said he never took money from
distinguished strangers; he suggested a souvenir--a diamond scarf pin, a
gold snuffbox, some little trifle of that sort by which he could remember
us.

As a small crowd had collected, and as the joke was drifting rather too
far in the cabman's directi