"It isn't only my Uncle Thomas," he said. "There's Aunt Julia, too. She's about as much the limit as he is. I remember, when I was a kid, she was always sitting on me. She does still. Wait till you see her. Sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands are the color of tomatoes and the size of legs of mutton, if you know what I mean. And talks as if she were biting at you. Frightful!"
Having unburdened himself of these criticisms, Lord Dreever yawned, leaned back, and was presently asleep.
It was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking itself less seriously for some time, stopping at stations of quite minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted again. A board with the legend, "Dreever," in large letters showed that they had reached their destination.
The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come to meet the train in the motorcar, and was now waiting in the road outside.
Lord Dreever's jaw fell.
"Oh, lord!" he said. "She's probably motored in to get the afternoon letters. That means, she's come in the runabout, and there's only room for two of us in that. I forgot to telegraph that you were coming, Pitt. I only wired about Hargate. Dash it, I shall have to walk."
His fears proved correct. The car at the station door was small. It was obviously designed to seat four only.
Lord Dreever introduced Hargate and Jimmy to the statuesque lady in the tonneau; and then there was an awkward silence.
At this point, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in his hand.
"Gee!" said Spike. "Say, boss, de mug what wrote dis piece must have bin livin' out in de woods. Say, dere's a gazebo what wants to swipe de heroine's jools what's locked in a drawer. So, dis mug, what 'do you t'ink he does?" Spike laughed shortly, in professional scorn. "Why—"