The whirl began with that drive to the station; began again in the train; began again as they stepped out on the pavement at Plymouth, just as a company of scarlet-coated soldiers came down the roadway with a din of brazen music.
The crowd, the shops, the vast hotel, completely dazed him, and he seriously accepted the waiter, in his black suit and big white shirt-front, as a contribution to the fun of the entertainment.
"We must dine early," Sir Harry announced at lunch; "the Pantomime begins at seven." "Isn't--isn't this the Pantomime ?" Taffy stammered.
George giggled.

Sir Harry set down his glass of claret, stared at the boy, and broke into musical laughter.

Taffy perceived he had made some ridiculous mistake and blushed furiously.
"God bless the child--the Pantomime's at the theatre!" "Oh!" Taffy recalled the canvas booth and wheezy cornet of his early days with a chill of disappointment.
But with George at his side it was impossible to be anything but happy.

After lunch they sallied out, and it would have been hard to choose the gayest of the three.

Sir Harry's radiant good-temper seemed to gild the streets.