"Mother," he said reproachfully in through the keyhole, "I had not expected this."
Sigsbee H. Waddington uttered a fearful cry.
"My wife! In there! With a man with a tooth-brush moustache! Let me talk to them!"
"Who was that?" asked Lord Hunstanton.
"Mr. Waddington," replied George. "Who was that?" he said, as a scream rent the air.
"Mrs. Waddington. I say, George, old man," queried his lordship anxiously, "what do you do when a woman starts turning blue and making little bubbling noises?"
Sigsbee H., finding that a man of his stature could not hope to speak to any advantage through the window unless he stood on something, had darted across the roof and was now returning with one of the potted shrubs in his arms. The wildness of his eyes and the fact that even in this supreme moment he had gone on puffing at his cigar gave him a striking resemblance to a fire-eating dragon. He bumped the tub down and, like a man who rises on stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things, elevated himself upon it.
This brought him nicely within range of the window and enabled him to push Lord Hunstanton in the face—which was all to the good. His lordship staggered back, leaving the way clear for the injured man to gaze upon his erring wife.
"Ha!" said Sigsbee H. Waddington.
"I can explain everything, Sigsbee!"