She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. They went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate relationships. “But you must forgive me, John. " "So he is," returned Jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain so. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
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