“Hullo! There’s that wicked old woman again!—Well, Mrs Champernowne, what is it now?”
“The wood-shed, sir.”
“Well, I don’t want the wood-shed. Light the fire yourself.”
“You don’t understand me, sir. I went round there to get some kindling, and there’s quite a heap of old clothes there that these wicked people have left behind.”
Uncle Paul chuckled, for he was beginning to beam again.
“I say, Pickle, that accounts for the milk in the cocoa-nut. They must have taken our things down into the old lady’s wood-shed, and turned it into a dressing-room.”
“Yes,” cried Rodd; “and that young Viscount is quite welcome to mine.”
“Most generous, I am sure, sir,” cried Uncle Paul sarcastically, “but would you be kind enough to tell me who pays the bills for your clothes?”
“Why, you do, uncle, of course. But I say, uncle, I do hope they’ll escape; don’t you?”
“Wha–a–at!”