'Mrs Wardle!' bellowed Augustine in a voice that rattled the window-panes like a strong nor'-easter. Until tonight he had always been very much afraid of his housekeeper and had both walked and talked softly in her presence. But now he was conscious of a strange new fortitude. His head was singing a little, and he felt equal to a dozen Mrs Wardles.
Shuffling footsteps made themselves heard.
'Well, what is it now?' asked a querulous voice.
Augustine snorted.
'I'll tell you what it is now,' he roared. 'How many times have I told you always to put a hot-water bottle in my bed? You've forgotten it again, you old cloth-head!'
Mrs Wardle peered up, astounded and militant.
'Mr Mulliner, I am not accustomed—'
'Shut up!' thundered Augustine. 'What I want from you is less back-chat and more hot-water bottles. Bring it up at once, or I leave tomorrow. Let me endeavour to get it into your concrete skull that you aren't the only person letting rooms in this village. Any more lip and I walk straight round the corner, where I'll be appreciated. Hot-water bottle ho! And look slippy about it.'
'Yes, Mr Mulliner. Certainly, Mr Mulliner. In one moment, Mr Mulliner.'
'Action! Action!' boomed Augustine. 'Show some speed. Put a little snap into it.'