For an instant it occurred to Johnny to make a dash for it, but the raw-boned lady looked both formidable and determined. There would be a big disturbance—perhaps the police called in. Johnny had often wanted to see his name in print: in connection with this affair he somehow felt he didn’t.
“Do let me in,” Johnny pleaded; “I have nowhere else to go.”
“You have a walk and cool yourself,” suggested the raw-boned lady. “Don’t expect he will be long.”
“But, you see—”
The raw-boned lady slammed the door.
Outside a restaurant in Wellington Street, from which proceeded savoury odours, Johnny paused and tried to think.
“What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had it—no, I didn’t. Must have dropped it, I suppose, when that silly ass tried to stop me. By Jove! I am having luck!”
Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused again. “How am I to live till Sunday night? Where am I to sleep? If I telegraph home—damn it! how can I telegraph? I haven’t got a penny. This is funny,” said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; “upon my word, this is funny! Oh! you go to—.”
Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy whose intention had been to offer sympathy.
“Well, I never!” commented a passing flower-girl. “Calls ’erself a lidy, I suppose.”