be all right. Oh, the time I had—the rain!—and the people throwing things at my bald patch—and those horses—wasn’t that horrible?—I wonder I’m still alive.” And he laughed with tired excitement, putting his hand over his stomach and rolling his eyes.
“Aren’t you drenched?” she said.
“Drenched!” he replied. “Or at least I was. I’ve dried off quite a lot. My rain-coat is no good—I don’t know why I don’t buy another. Oh, but what a time! The rain streaming on my bald head, and the crowd behind throwing oranges at it. Then simply gored in my inside about letting you go alone. Yet it was the only bull-fight I shall ever see. I came then before it was over. Bud wouldn’t come. I suppose he’s still there.”
“Was it as awful