We stayed over two or three
trains in London, however, just long enough to get in a background, as
it were, for our Continental experiences. The weather was typical, and
the background, from an artistic point of view, was perfect. While not
precisely opaque, you couldn't see through it anywhere.
When it became a question of how we were to put in the time, it seemed
to momma as if she would rather lie down than anything.
"You and your father, dear," she said, "might drive to St. Paul's, when
it stops raining. Have a good look at the dome and try to bring me back
the sound of the echo. It is said to be very weird. See that poppa
doesn't forget to take off his hat in the body of the church, but he
might put it on in the Whispering Gallery, where it is sure to be
draughty. And remember that the funeral coach of the Duke of Wellington
is down in the crypt, darling. You might bring me an impression of that.
I think I'll have a cup of chocolate and try to get a little sleep."
"Is it," asked poppa, "the coach which the Duke sent to represent him at
the other people's funerals, or the one in which he attended his own?"
"You can look that up," momma replied; "but my belief is that it was
presented to the Duke by a grateful nation after his demise.
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