"These 'ave just been 'anded in, Miss," he announced. "No name, and"--with a slight note of congratulation in his voice--"nothing to pay."
Tilly thanked him, and, taking the flowers, buried her face in the heart of the bunch. When she withdrew it she found that Mr. Stillbottle was still present.
"If you could find him, Miss," he said deferentially, "I should like to 'ave a word with the Chief Nut."
"Who?"
"The old feller that's running this fake."
"Oh, my father?" said Tilly, biting her lip. "He is dressing, I think." She tucked three or four carnations into her belt and began to arrange the others in a bowl.
"Then, perhaps," said Mr. Russell, "you could advise me on a purely personal matter."
"Certainly," replied Tilly absently. Dicky's gift still claimed all her attention.
"It's these trousers, Miss," explained Russell confidentially. "They are the pair supplied by the management; and between ourselves I don't think they suit me. Brother Perce may 'ave a faithful 'eart, but 'e 's built all wrong. These trousers are six or eight inches too long in the leg. I feel as if I was wearin' a pair of concertinas. Now--"
This sartorial jeremiad was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn, who, travelling full-speed astern and towing Amelia and the tea-table of Pumpherston in her wake, butted the double doors open, and backed heavily into the orator. Mr. Russell, looking deeply injured, retired to complete his toilet.