“Milly,” said he with decision, “take that ... thing down-stairs, and tell Mrs. Gigg to telephone the hat-shop to call for it.”
“Yessir.”
“And after that, call me a taxi. Tell it to wait. I’ll be ready by ten or know—”
Promptly retiring, Milly took with her, in addition to the bandbox, a confused impression of a room whose atmosphere was thick with flying garments, in the wild swirl of which a lanky lunatic danced weirdly, muttering uncouth incantations....
Forty minutes later (on the stroke of ten) Mr. Staff, beautifully groomed after his habit, his manner (superbly nonchalant) denying that he had ever known reason why he should take a single step in haste, followed his trunks down to the sidewalk and, graciously bidding his landlady adieu, presented Milly with a keepsake in the shape of a golden coin of the realm.
A taxicab, heavy-laden with his things, fretted before the door. Staff nodded to the driver.
“Euston,” said he; “and a shilling extra if you drive like sin.”
“Right you are, sir.”
In the act of entering the cab, Staff started back with bitter imprecations.
Mrs. Gigg, who had not quite closed the front door, opened it wide to his remonstrant voice.