“Are you our steward?” asked Staff.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your name?”
“Orde, sir.”
“Well, Orde, can you stow this thing some place out of our way?”
Orde eyed the bandbox doubtfully. “I dessay I can find a plice for it,” he said at length.
“Do, please.”
“Very good, sir. Then-Q.” Possessing himself of the bandbox, Orde retired.
“And now,” suggested Iff with much vivacity, “s’pose we unpack and get settled.”
And they proceeded to distribute their belongings, sharing the meagre conveniences of their quarters with the impartiality of courteous and experienced travellers....