CHAPTER XII
"Four half crowns is ten bob. Sarah, if ever I catch you carrying that heavy coal-box up to our room again, I'll give you a month's warning and pack you off without a day's notice!
"Nell," entering the Stronghold, "to-day is Saturday. Old Tellbridge, gazing at my interesting countenance, pale from overwork and perhaps tired of my unfortunate method of making two and two tot up to five or three, let me off early. The pit of a theatre is peopled nowadays by a most respectable and worthy—"
"A theatre? Oh, Denis! Which? What?"
"My dears, do not shout. 'Tis vulgar. You've heard of a play called 'Monsieur Beaucaire.' Softly—softly. And James, there are no—er—butterflies in K.K.'s coat, I assure you. Yes, Atom, we are going! Yes, we must start at once! Lancaster says it's going very strong. We'll have to wait outside ages. As our aunt is not at home, I would suggest a raid on the kitchen, and then flight."
Nell said demurely:—
"Yesterday Aunt Kezia was holding forth on the vulgarity of any but grocers' assistants and 'sich-like' waiting in a queue outside a theatre."
Down in the kitchen a scandalised Sarah looked on while they "foraged." She held a table-cloth in one hand and two table napkins in the other. Agitatedly she sought to thrust them upon the O'Briens, while they sat on the table and ate cold jam-tart, bread and cheese, and apples. Later, as they hurried out of the gate—Molly, gloveless, working her arms into her coat—she called after them:—
"You'll be faint with 'unger, missansir!"
On the omnibus Molly discovered that she had brought odd gloves with her.