“Ho!” said the field-marshal, looking like a stuffed sergeant-major.
“And now,” said Sam, “can I see Mr. Bates?”
“You cannot.”
“But he’s in there.”
“And you’re out ’ere,” said the field-marshal.
He moved away to assist a young lady of gay exterior to alight from a taxicab. And as he did so, someone spoke from the steps.
“Ah, there you are!”
Sam looked up, relieved. Dear old Bates was standing in the lighted doorway.
Of the four persons who made up the little group collected about the threshold of the Angry Cheese, three now spoke simultaneously.
Dear old Bates said, “This is topping! Thought you weren’t coming.”