"But——" protested Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair.
"Oh! do sit down, old thing!" cried Cissie; "you're spoiling my breakfast."
Mr. Stiffson subsided. Destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair.
"Now you jest enjoy your little selves," apostrophized Bindle, "an' then we'll try an' find out 'ow all this 'ere 'appened. It does me, blowed if it don't."
II
"I'm not aware that I speak indistinctly." The voice was uncompromising, the deportment aggressive. "I said 'Mr. Jabez Stiffson.'"
"You did, mum," agreed Bindle tactfully; "I 'eard you myself quite plainly."
"Then where is he? I'm Mrs. Stiffson."
Mrs. Stiffson was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her hair was grey, her features virtuously hard, her manner overwhelming. Her movements gave no suggestion of limbs, she seemed to wheel along with a slight swaying of the body from side to side.
"Well?" she interrogated.