That young brother of yours--I suppose he is your brother"-- pointing to Robert--"pays calls in the middle of the night.

He seems to think every caravan in the world belongs to him.

How a man who lives in a London terrace knows his house I never could understand, but to recognize one's own caravan ought to be quite easy." Mr MacAngus, you must understand, did not say all this in one breath, for he was a slow man.

But it reads as if he did, because none of the others uttered a word.

It was all too bewildering and also too amusing.
He was so big and so strange, and he had such a twinkle in his eye, that they preferred to let him go on, knowing that whatever he said would be entertaining.
"Well," he said at last, "now we must stop talking nonsense and introduce ourselves.