On the way to it Sir Tancred got down to buy some cigars, and he was barely in the shop when the financier said in a jerky way to Tinker, "I saw a very neat little motor-car, which I should like to make you a present of.
But I say--I don't want you to tell anyone--how--how ill I was up there.

My spirit was all right, of course; but that rarefied air--acting on business worries--produced a state of nervous prostration.

I--I wasn't quite myself, in fact." Tinker looked at him with intelligent interest, and, closing one of his sunny blue eyes, said thoughtfully, "Nervous prostration?
Is the motor a Panhard ?" "Yes," said Mr.Blumenruth.
"If you hadn't been so--so--upset, I've no doubt you'd have sailed the machine yourself," said Tinker warmly..