“Who is it?” asked Agatha impatiently.
John looked through the casement before he answered:
“The Ancient, Nicodemus Burble, and Nick.”
“We don’t want that old gaffer. Tell him he can’t come in.”
But Timothy objected.
“Let ’un in; let ’un in. All friends be heartily welcome.”
Agatha shrugged her shoulders. John opened the door to Nicodemus, who entered gallantly, carrying his many years as if they were feathers.
“Marning, all.”
Nick followed, and espying a newspaper which John had stuck into the strap of Agatha’s suit-case, furtively purloined it, sidling into the ingle-nook, where he remained more or less invisible.
“Glad to see you looking so hearty, Mr. Burble,” said John.