"'Never mind what I mean. That girl's worried me times and oft. There's worse things than accidents.'
"I listened, thrilled. 'You be orf to bed, 'Arry,' said my mother.
"Whaddyou got to do,—simple,' said my uncle, leaning forward on his toes. 'Telephone 'ospitals. Telephone plice. Old Crow at the Wellington won't've gone to bed. 'Sgot telephone. Good customers. 'E'll telephone. Mark my words—s'snaccident.'
"And then Prue reappeared at the top of the stairs.
"'Mother!' she said in a loud whisper.
"'You be orf to bed, miss,' said my mother. ''Aven't I got worries enough?'
"'Mother,' said Prue. 'You know that little old portmantle of Fanny's?'
"Everyone faced a new realisation.
"'Sgorn,' said Prue. 'And her two best 'ats and all 'er undercloe's and 'er other dress—gorn too.'
"'Then she's took 'em!' said my father.