"The true bowket of our port and bromide begins to tickle my nostrils."
A good-looking maid brought coffee, and Furneaux grinned at her.
"How do you think he'd look in a nice straw hat?" he asked, jerking his head toward Winter. The girl smiled. The little man's reputation had reached the kitchen. She glanced demurely at the Superintendent's bullet head.
"Not an ordinary straw. You mean a Panama," she said.
"Certainly," laughed Winter.
"Nothing of the sort," howled Furneaux. "Just run your eye over him. He isn't an isthmus—he's a continent."
"A common straw wouldn't suit him," persisted the girl. "He's too big a gentleman."
"How little you know him!" said Furneaux.
The girl blushed and giggled.
"Go on!" she said, and bounced out.