I have a favour to ask."
"A favour? Is it _the_--?"
"Well, it's rather prosaic for _the_--" she laughed. "In fact, it's
_tea_."
"Tea?"
"Yes. It's rather a long story; but it comes to this. You see, Fred
is very particular about the tea he drinks."
"Indeed?"
"It's a fact, I assure you. Well, when we were travelling in the
states, Fred happened to come across some tea he liked particularly,
at Chicago. And the funny thing about this tea is that it is
compressed. It is called 'Wapshotts' Patent Compressed Tea;' now I
daresay," added Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys demurely, "that you wouldn't
think it possible for compressed tea to be good."
"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Moggridge, "I have never given the
subject a thought."
"No, of course; being a poet, you wouldn't. But it's very good, all
the same: you buy it in cakes, and have to be very particular that
'Wapshott and Sons' is written on each cake: of course it isn't
_really_ written--"
"Of course not; but you'll excuse me if I don't yet see--"
"To be sure you don't until I have explained. Well, you see, men are
so particular about what they eat and drink, and are always thinking
about it--I don't mean poets, of course. I suppose you, for
instance, only think about gossamer and things.
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