In the kitchenette he lit a gas-ring and filling a copper kettle, set the water to boil.
François, in his hurry to meet his brother that morning, had forgotten to dust the black writing table. Ronnie found a duster and remedied his man's neglect.
By the time he had finished, the kettle was boiling. The tea was in a little wooden box; the sugar he found on another shelf—there was no milk. Ronnie put on his coat and with a jug in his hand, went out to find a dairy. The hall porter saw a man in a silk hat and wasp-waisted overcoat passing his lodge, and came out hurriedly.
"Excuse me, Mr. Morelle. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"I want some milk," said Ronnie simply, "but please don't trouble; there is a dairy in the Brompton Road, I remember seeing the place."
"They will be closed now, sir," said the porter. "If you give me the jug, I'll get some for you."
He took the vessel and made a flat-to-flat canvass and was successful in his quest.
When Ronnie opened the door to the porter, Ronnie was in his shirt-sleeves and he had a broom in his hand. He explained pleasantly that he had upset a can of flour. François occasionally prepared an omelette for his master.
"If you'll let me sweep it up—" began the porter, but Ronnie declined the offer.
With a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter he made a meal, cleared away the remnants of the feast and washed and dried the utensils.