' He went into a tobacconist's shop and
asked for a cigar. The shopman mildly inquired what price.
'What are the best you've got?' asked Theodore Racksole.
'Five shillings each, sir,' said the man promptly.
'Give me a penny one,' was Theodore Racksole's laconic request,
and he walked out of the shop smoking the penny cigar. It was a
new sensation for him.
He was inhaling the aromatic odours of Eug?ne Rimmel's
establishment for the sale of scents when a gentleman, walking
slowly in the opposite direction, accosted him with a quiet, 'Good
evening, Mr Racksole.' The millionaire did not at first recognize
his interlocutor, who wore a travelling overcoat, and was carrying
a handbag. Then a slight, pleased smile passed over his features,
and he held out his hand.
'Well, Mr Babylon,' he greeted the other, 'of all persons in the wide
world you are the man I would most have wished to meet.'
'You flatter me,' said the little Anglicized Swiss.
'No, I don't,' answered Racksole; 'it isn't my custom, any more than
it's yours. I wanted to have a real good long yarn with you, and lo!
here you are! Where have you sprung from?'
'From Lausanne,' said Felix Babylon. 'I had finished my duties
there, I had nothing else to do, and I felt homesick. I felt the
nostalgia of London, and so I came over, just as you see,' and he
raised the handbag for Racksole's notice. 'One toothbrush, one
razor, two slippers, ehl' He laughed.
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