‘Why did you laugh when my friends came to luncheon? You must learn manners.’
‘Please, sir, the kid, the young gentleman I mean, said he came on business,’ answered the boy, showing apoplectic symptoms.
‘So he did; luncheon is his business. Go and bring luncheon for—five, and see that there are chicken, cutlets, tartlets, apricots, and ginger-beer.’
The boy departed and Merton reflected. ‘A hoax, somebody’s practical joke,’ he said to himself. ‘I wonder who Miss None-so-pretty is.’ Then he returned, assured Batsy that luncheon was even at the doors, and leaving her to look at Punch, led Mr. Apsley aside. ‘Tommy,’ he said (having seen his signature), ‘where do you live?’
The boy named a street on the frontiers of St. John’s Wood.
‘And who is your father?’
‘Major Apsley, D.S.O.’
‘And how did you come here?’
‘In a hansom. I told the man to wait.’
‘How did you get away?’