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Mr Wisdom,’ said the girl who had led him into the presence.’Ah,’ said Howard Saxby, and there was a pause of perhaps three minutes, during which his needles clicked busily. ‘Wisdom, did she say?”Yes. I wrote “Cocktail Time””You couldn’t have done better,’ said Mr Saxby cordially. ‘How’s your wife, Mr Wisdom?’Cosmo said he had no wife.’Surely?'”I’m a bachelor.’Then Wordsworth was wrong. He said you were married to immortal verse. Excuse me a moment,’ murmured Mr Saxby, applying himself to the sock again. ‘I’m just turning the heel. Do you knit?”No.”Sleep does. It knits the ravelled sleave of care.'(After a period of engrossed knitting, Cosmo coughs loudly to draw attention to his presence.)’Goodness, you made me jump!’ he (Saxby) said. ‘Who are you?”My name, as I have already told you, is Wisdom”How did you get in?’ asked Mr Saxby with a show of interest.’I was shown in.”And stayed in. I see, Tennyson was right. Knowledge comes, but Wisdom lingers. Take a chair.”I have.”Take another,’ said Mr Saxby hospitably.
