Mrs. Plumer, of Maresett Cottage, Dymchurch, was an anxious widow woman. She had a kind, serviceable heart, but it was troubled about many things. She saved and eked out almost too much. She let most of her rooms in the summer and some even in the winter, but she hated to think of the things careless lodgers might do to her furniture. She liked everything to be in order and lodgers better looking and better behaved than Mrs. Pringle’s lodgers or Mrs. Mackinder’s lodgers. She had taken a fancy to Bobby because he had fitted in nicely when she had had only one room to spare, and because he had shaved in cold water instead of calling down as every other man lodger did—there was no bell in that room—for hot. Also he talked agreeably when he came in and out and didn’t want more at meals.
She was very pleased when he wrote to take her downstairs living-room and two bedrooms for himself and a friend for a fortnight. There were few people in Dymchurch who got “lets” in November. They might come “any time” after Tuesday.
She told Mrs. Pringle and Mrs. Mackinder that she was expecting two young gentlemen, and left them to suppose that her guests might stay on indefinitely.
On Wednesday she was excited and rather perplexed by a series of telegrams from Bobby. The first said plainly and distinctly: “Arriving with aunt about four Roothing.” That disappointed her. She would have infinitely preferred two gentlemen.
But within an hour came another wire and this said: “Error in telegram not aunt uncle sorry Roothing.”
Now what was one to make of that?
Presently the child from the Post Office was back again. “Uncle catching cold fire hot-water bottles whisky.”
The next sensational telegram announced a delay. “Tyre trouble not so soon later Roothing.”
Then came: “Sixish almost certain good fire please Roothing.”
“It’s very good of him,” said Mrs. Plumer “to keep me informed like this. But I hope the old gentleman won’t be fussy.”