Voices roused me. Buoyant with animation, they penetrated beyond the closed front door. A loud unknown voice, mingled with those of Angel and The Seraph.
In an instant, I was on my feet, my nose pressed against one of the narrow windows of ruby-coloured glass that were on either side of the hall door. I could see three small red figures in animated conversation on the square grass plot before the house. The largest of the three began to execute a masterly hop, skip and jump on the crimson grass. Above arched the sanguine sky.
I opened the door and closing it softly behind me, stood on the steps.
The newcomer was a sturdy fellow about a year older than Angel. He had a devil-may-care air about him, and he wore, at a rakish angle, a cap, bearing the badge of a well-known school. He turned to me instantly.
"Well," he said, "you're a rum-lookin' pup."
I was rather abashed at such a greeting, but I held my ground. "My name is John," I replied simply.
"Oh, Lord!" he groaned. "John! Don't you know enough to give your surname? Eh? I wish we had you at my school for a term. We'd lick you into shape."
"His surname is Curzon, too," put in Angel, "same as mine."
"Very well, then," said the boy, "you're Curzon major, Curzon minor, and Curzon minimus. Hear that, Curzon minimus?" he shouted, tweaking The Seraph's ear.
"I say," said Angel, "you let him alone!" And I ran down the steps. The boy stared.