“I can’t understand it. I told them to be quick. I expressly stipulated that they were not to potter.”
“Apparently they are not even ‘pottering’! They have not begun at all!” I said grimly, as I ran my eye down the letter just received from the “man in charge”. It was the ordinary, ultra-polite, ultra-servile production of the tradesman who has not kept his word.
“Dear Madam,—Owing to a press of other work, I regret that I have not been able to commence—”
“Commence! Odious word. It is adding insult to injury to use it. And what can he mean? He seemed so keen about the order. Said he was so slack that he would be able to put on all his hands!”
“I shall write and tell him to do so at once,” said Charmion magnificently, and I held my peace and let her do it, knowing that it would be no use to object, and hoping that at least her letter might succeed in extracting some more definite information.
It did! This was it:—
“Madam,—I beg to inform you that Mr Maplestone having rented the house known as ‘Uplands,’ on behalf of General Underwood, and placed urgent orders with us for its re-decoration, we are regretfully compelled to delay operations at Pastimes for some weeks. We are making all possible speed with the present contract, and beg to assure you that your work shall then be finished with all despatch.
“We have the honour to remain, etcetera.”
Charmion and I looked at one another, and looked, and looked, and looked. We were both thinking hard—thinking backward, thinking ahead. Exactly what we thought neither of us put into words; we just sat silently and stared, until presently Charmion rose, marched over to her writing-table, and scribbled a few words on a telegram form. Then she held it out for me to read:—
“Order for decorations at Pastimes cancelled herewith.”