"What's the matter? Eliza can chaperone you," he protested.
Simultaneously with Phil's disappearance Eliza had moved to the window and looked out on the advancing twilight. She heard the words, and her thin lips tightened.
"That's the very cat that assaulted and battered mother," went on Edgar, and although he lowered his voice Eliza heard the words and smiled grimly at a neighboring stable.
Kathleen frowned and motioned with her head toward the black alpaca back.
Edgar shrugged his immaculate shoulders.
"Well, tell me when you have had enough of it," he said, and threw himself back on the pile of blankets.
Kathleen was just planning some civil overture to Eliza when the host reappeared, a hatchet in his hand.
"That bold son of Erin dares to imply that I borrowed his hammer yesterday," he announced. "If I did, it is in Mrs. Maloney's closet; and if there it is as a needle in a haystack; for that closet, Miss Fabian, is responsible for the air of chaste elegance you observe in this apartment. If you'll all stand aside, not to be bombarded when I open the door, I will give one glimpse within."
Phil opened the closet door cautiously, and deftly caught a mandolin as it bounded forth.
"Sole relic of glee-club days," he remarked. "I don't know why I brought it, for I couldn't play 'Yankee Doodle' on it now."