Mrs. Postwhistle read the letter and produced the half-crown.
“Better get a shave with part of it,” suggested Mrs. Postwhistle. “That is, if you are going to play the fool much longer.”
“Miss Bulstrode” opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her breakfast.
“Don’t tell them,” said Johnny; “not just for a little while, at all events.”
“Nothing to do with me,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her aunt in Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an envelope, the following hastily scrawled note:—
“Want to speak to you at once—alone. Don’t yell when you see me. It’s all right. Can explain in two ticks.—Your loving brother, Johnny.”
It took longer than two ticks; but at last the Babe came to an end of it.
“When you have done laughing,” said the Babe.
“But you look so ridiculous,” said his sister.