Then a shrill inquiry from above.
‘What’s the matter, George?’
‘Nothings. I know where I but it now. I will not haf my babers mettled.’
Then more dictation, the dictator waddling fiercely across the room and back again for ten minutes or so. Then a rush to the door, and a new call upstairs.
‘Who the tevil—— Oh, it’s all right I remember where
I put it.’
Then more dictation, and a third rush.
‘Who the tevil——’
Then a hurricane of whirling skirts upon the stairs, and on a sudden Mrs. Darco, kneeling on the floor, wrestling both hands above her head, and shrieking. Mr. Darco darted and shook her as if she had been a doormat.
‘Get ub! No volly—no volly!’