"Wot's all tommy-rot?" demanded Mr. Diggs severely.
"Christmas Eve," said Watson. "I have no objection to Christmas morning, but 'ang me if I can see any sense in Christmas Eve. What's it good for, anyway?"
"You'd better get a taller ladder," said Mr. Diggs. "It's getting on towards 'alf-past eight. We can't be all night 'anging that bunch of mistletoe, you know."
Melissa paused in her work long enough to devote an appraising look upon Watson.
"You look very handsome up there, Watson. It gives you a very good height. Straighten your legs out a bit. If you stand up as straight as you can you'll be as tall as Mr. Diggs THINKS he is."
"See here, my fine lady," began Diggs, annoyed.
"Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Diggs," cried Melissa. "I didn't see you."
"You'll get your walking papers if you don't keep your place," said Diggs ominously.
"And I'll keep my place if I don't get my walking papers," retorted Melissa, airily.
"And what's more," went on the butler, "you'll get the sack anyway if you don't stop filling the kids up with them yarns of yours. The nurses were telling Mrs. Bingle that the children didn't go to sleep for hours last night, they were that scared."